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Jb CtO^U. ' /A* *tc^6u^ K 

POEMS, 



J> ^Trt 



CHIEFLY IN THE 



SCOTTISH DIALECT. 



ROBERT BURNS. 



AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE, 

AND 

A GLOSSARY. 



O Nature \ a' thy shew an' form?, 
To feeling pensive hearts h?.e charms 1 
Whether the Summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or Winter howls, iu gusty storms, 

The lang dark night ! 



€t»ml)utg!)- ' • 

PRINTED FOR ROBERT HUTCHESON, BOOKSELLRP 
GLASGOW, 

By Abmiethy & Walhr* 
1807. 



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MB. HUTCKE30W. 

J'6Ag J 0? 



LIFE 



OF 



ROBERT BURNS. 



XXobert Burns, the subject of these memoirs, was born 
on the 25th of January 1759, on the banks of Doon, about 
two miles from Ayr, near to which stand the ruins of Al- 
loway Kirk, now celebrated by his admirable tale of Tarn 
o' Shanter. 

His father William Bums, originally from Kincardine- 
shire, after serving in a variety of situations, at last settled 
in Ayrshire as a gardener ; but soon afterwards turned 
farmer. He maintained a very respectable character. In 
1757, he married Agnes Brown, Robert was the first 
born of this marriage. He was sent to school when about 
six years old, where he was taught to read English, and 
write a little ; and at the age of eleven he had arrived at 
great proficiency. He was taught the rudiments of arith- 
metic by his father in the winter evenings. He thus 
writes, of his early days, in his letter to Dr Moore, " At 
those years I was by no means a favourite with any bo- 
dy. — I was a good deal noted for a retentive memory, 
a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, and an 
enthusiastic ideot piety ; I say, ideot piety, because I was 
then but a child. — Though it cost the schoolmaster, some 
thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar ; and by 
the time i was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in 
substantives, verbs, and particles— In my infant and boy- 
ish days too I owed much to an old woman who resided 
in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, 
and superstition. She had, 1 suppose, the largest collec- 
tion in the country, of tales and songs concerning devils, 
ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kel- 
pies, elf-candles, deadrlights, wrakhs, apparitions, can- 
traips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trum- 
pery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; but had 



:v LIFE OF 

so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour, 
in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look- 
out in suspicious places ; and though nobody can be more 
sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes an 
effort of philosophy to shake off these idol terrors." 

Young Burns had now acquired a great propensity for 
reading, and eagerly perused whatever book fell in his 
way ; but still he had not discovered any signs of that 
striking ready wit, nor betrayed the smallest inclination to 
poetry, both which have since conferred upon him a lasting 
fame. Mr Murdoch, who instructed him in English and 
writing, remarks that Gilbert (his brother) always ap- 
peared to possess a more lively imagination, and to be 
more of the wit than Robert. " Robert's face was gene- 
rally grave, and expressive of a serious, contemplative, 
and thoughtful mind. — Gilbert's face said, Mirth^ ivtih 
thee I mean to live ! — and certainly if any person., who knew 
the two boys, had been asked which of them was the most 
likely to court the Muses, he would surely never have 
supposed that Robert had a propensity of that kind." 

Burns's father, who had now acted as gardener and 
overseer for eight years to Mr Fergusson of Denholm, at 
Whitsunday 1766 obtained from that gentleman a lease 
of the farm of Mount Oliphant, in Ayrshire, as an ac- 
knowledgment for his faithful services. 

The first circumstance which induced our youthful poet 
to warble his " wild, artless notes," is very interesting, on 
account of the elegant simplicity which distinguishes the 
following description of his harvest partner. " She was a 
bonie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she altogether, unwit- 
tingly to herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, 
which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, 
and luke-warm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human 
joys, our dearest blessing here below. Indeed, I did not 
know myself why I li«ed so much to loiter behind with 
her, when returning in the evening from our labours ; 
w T hy the tones of her voice made my heart-strings thrill, 
like an /Eolian harp ; and particularly, why my pulse, 
beat such a furious ratan, when I looked and fingered over 
her little hand, to pick out the cruel nettle stings and 
thistles. 



ROBERT BURN,*. v 

" Thus," says he, " with me began love and poetry ; 
which at times have been my only and till within the 
last twelve months, my highest enjoyment. 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm that 
my little story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning 
of this period, perhaps the most ungainly awkward boy in 
the parish — no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways 
of the world. " — 

" In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, 
I went to a country dancing-school. — My father had an 
unaccountable antipathy against these meetings, and my 
going was, what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
his wishes. My father was subject to strong passions ; 
from that instance of disobedience in me, he took a dislike 
to me, which, I believe, was one cause of the dissipation 
which marked my succeeding years. I say dissipation, 
comparatively with the strictness, and sobriety, and regu- 
larity of presbyterian country life ; for though the will-o- 
wisp meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the sole 
lights of my path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue 
kept me several years afterwards within the line of inno- 
cence. The great misfortune of my life was to want an 
aim. I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but they 
were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the 
walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on 
me perpetual labour The only two openings by which 
I could enter the temple of fortune, was the gate of nig- 
gardly economy, or the path of little chicaning bargain- 
making : The first is so contracted an aperture, I never 
could squeeze myself into it ; the last I always hated — 
there was contamination in the very entrance Thus a- 
bandoned of aim, or view in life, with a strong appetite for 
sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from a pnde of 
observation and remark ; a constitutional melancholy or 
hypochondriasm that made me fly solitude ; add to these 
incentives to social life, my reputation for bookish know- 
ledge, a certain wild logical talent, and strength of thought., 
something like the rudiments of good sense, and it will 
not seem surprising that I was generally a welcome guest 
where I visited, or any great wonder that always where 
two or three met together, there was I 3mongthem. B-i* 



^i LIFE OF 

far "beyond all other impulses of my heart, was un fieri" 
chant a V adorable moitiee du genre humaitu My heart was 
completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some 
goddess or other ; and as, in every other warfare in this 
world, my fortune was various, sometimes I was received 
with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a repulse. 
At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no competi- 
tor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance ; and as I ne- 
ver cared farther for my labours than while I was in actual 
exercise, I spent the evenings in a way after my own heart." 

About a twelvemonth previous to the death of his fa- 
ther, Burns, who had then attained his twenty-fourth year, 
became anxious to be fixed in a situation to enable him to 
marry. His brother Gilbert and he had for several years 
held a small portion of land from their father, on which 
they chiefly raised flax In disposing of the produce of 
their labour, our Author took it into his head to com- 
mence flaxdresser. — He accordingly continued at that bu- 
siness for about six months ; but it proved an unlucky 
concern, for the shop some time after taking fire, was ut- 
terly destroyed, and he was left not worth a sixpence. 

Immediately before the death of their father, Burns and 
his brother took the farm of Mossgiel, consisting of 118 
acres, at L. 90 per annum. It was stocked by the property 
and individual savings of the whole family, and was a 
joint concern. The allowance to the two brothers was 
JL. 7 fier annum each; and for four years at this time, as well 
as during the period of seven years residence with his fa- 
ther at Lochlea, his expenditure never in any year exceed- 
ed his income. His temperance and frugality were every 
thing that could be wished. 

" I entered on this farm," says our Author in his letter 
to Dr Moore, " with a full resolution, come, go to, I will be 
•wise I I read farming books ; I calculated crops ; I ai* 
tended markets ; and in short, in spite of the devil, and the 
tuorld, and the flesh, I believe I should have been a wise 
man ; but the first year, from unfortunately buying bad 
seed, the second from a late harvest, we lost half our crops. 
This overset all my wisdom, and 1 returned, like the dog to 
his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to her wallowing in 
the mire" 



ROBERT BURNS. vii 

While Burns resided at Mossgiel, he became acquainted 
with Miss Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs Burns, whom he 
thus celebrates, in one of his earliest productions, along 
with the other beauties of Mauchline 

" Miss Miller is fine ; Miss Maryland's divine ; 

Miss Smith she has ivit> and Miss Betty is braio ; 
There's beauty and fortune to get iv'i Miss Morton^ 

But Armour s the jeic el for me o* them a" 

To add to his misfortunes, her parents refused their con- 
sent to his marriage ; and being thus every way unsuccess- 
ful, in the greatest distress of mind, he resolved to leave 
his country. 

He had been offered the situation of an overseer in Ja- 
maica; but previous to his setting off, he was advised to 
publish a volume of his poems by subscription. With the 
iirst fruits of his poetical labours, he had paid his passage, 
and purchased a few articles of clothing, &c. His chest 
was already on the way to Greenock, when a letter from 
Dr fiiacklock, signifying his approbation of the poems, and 
an assurance that Burns would meet with encouragement 
in Edinburgh for a second edition, completely changed his 
intentions. 

Soon after his arrival in Edinburgh, his poems procured 
him the admiration of all conditions. Persons of rank and 
power were not above taking notice of him, and, in a short 
time the name of Burns was celebrated over all the king- 
dom. It ought here to be mentioned to his honour, that 
he had been in Edinburgh only a few months, and was still 
in the midst of poverty, when he erected a monument in 
the Lanongate Churchyard to the memory of the celebra- 
ted, but unfortunate poet s Fergusson. 

In Edinburgh, Burns beheld mankind in a new light. 
Surrounded on all sides by admirers, his days were passed 
in the company of the great, his evenings in dissipation. 
This kind of life he led nearly a twelvemonth, when his 
friends suggested to him the necessity of seeking a perma- 
nent establishment. With L.60O, the profits of his poems, 
he retired from Edinburgh to the farm of Elisland in 
Nithsdale, near Dumfries. He was now in a state of com- 
parative affluence, and the parents of " his Jean" no 



viii LIFE OF BURNS. 

longer objecting to his poverty, he completed his happiness 
by a public acknowledgment of his marriage. 

To his brother Gilbert, who had undertaken the support 
of his aged mother, he advanced the sum of L.200. The 
remainder of his money he laid out in stocking his farm. 
At a distance from the scenes of his former dissipation, 
removed from all society, save that of his own family, and 
in possession of the dearest object of his wishes, he promi- 
sed himself many long and happy days. His old habits 
were, however, too strong to be overcome, and the gen- 
tlemen farmers of Nithsdale were already his boon com- 
panions. 

In a few years he became tired of farming ; and Mr 
Graham of Fintry, having procured for him a place in the 
Excise, with a salary of L. 50 a year, he sold his stock and 
farming utensils, and removed to Dumfries. 

In Autumn 1795, he lost his only daughter, when he 
was at such a distance as prevented him from paying the 
last melancholy duties to her. He had scarcely begun to 
recover from this shock, when he again became the victim 
of a severe rheumatic fever. As soon as he was able to 
venture abroad, he was advised to try the effect of sea- 
bathing. For this purpose about the end of June 1796, 
he went to Brow, on the shore of Solway Frith, where he 
continued about five weeks without reaping any advan- 
tage. On his return to Dumfries, he was seized with a 
new attack of the fever, which terminated the life and suf- 
ferings of this great, but ill-requited genius, on Thursday 
the 21st of July 1796, in the thirty-eight year of his age. 

Though Burns died in very indigent circumstances, yet 
his integrity and honest pride, with the frugality, indus- 
try, and prudence of Mrs Burns, prevented him from run- 
ning into debt. Soon after his death a subscription was 
opened for his widow and children, in most of the princi- 
pal cities of the United Kingdoms, by which a considerable 
fund was raised. The profits arising from Dr Currie's 
valuable Edition of his Works, in four large volumes, were 
also devoted to the same charitable purpose. An annuity 
has thus been procured for the widow, which will enable 
her to bring up her children in a way suitable to the con- 
dition of their worthy father. 



HiOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 



CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



My Lords and Gentlemen, 

A Scottish Bard, proud of the name, and whose 
highest ambition is to sing in his Country's service, 
where shall he so properly look for patronage as to 
the illustrious Names of his native land ; those who 
bear the honours, and inherit the virtues of their An* 
cestors P '—The Poetic Genius of my Country found me, 
as the prophetic lard Elijah did Elisha — at the 
plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle over me : 
She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes, 
and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native 
tongue : I tuned my wild, artless notes as she inspi- 
red. — She whispered me to come to this ancient me- 
tropolis of Caledonia, and lay my Songs under your 
honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, 7 do not 
approach ^ ,u y my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual 
style of dedication, to thank you J or past favours ; 
that path is so hackneyed by prostituted Learning, 
that honest Rusticity is ashamed of it. Nor do I 



10 

present this Address with the venal soul of a servile 
Author, looking for a continuation of those favours : 
1 was bred to the Plough, and am independent. I 
come to claim the common Scottish name with you, my 
illustrious Countrymen ; and to tell the world that I 
glory in the title. — / come to congratulate my Coun- 
try, that, the blood of her ancient heroes still remains 
un contaminated ; and that from your courage, know- 
ledge, and, public spirit, she may expect protection , 
wealth, and liberty.-— In the last place, I come to prof- 
fer my warmest wishes to the Great Fountain of Ho- 
nour, the Monarch of the Universe, for your wel- 
fare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your Forefathers^ 
may Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may social 
joy await your return I When harassed in courts or 
camps with the justlings of bad men and bad measures, 
may the honest consciousness of injured Worth attend 
your return to your native Seats ; and may Domestic 
Happiness, with a smiling welcome > meet you at your 
gates 1 May Corruption shrink at your kindling in- 
dignant glance ; and may tyranny in the Fouler, and 
licentiousness in the People, equally find you an inex- 
orable foe I 

I have the honour to be, with the sheerest grati- 
tude, and highest respect. 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Tour most devoted, humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Edinburgh, April 4. 1787. 



CONTENTS. 



»X5K< 



PAGE. 

-L HE Tiva Dogs, - 1 

Scotch Drink. - 9 

The Author s Earnest Cry 

and Prayer, &c. - 14 
The Holy Fair, - 21 

Death and Dr Hornbook, 29 
The Brigs o* Ayr, 36 

The Ordination, - 45 

The Calf, - 49 

Address to the Deil, 51 

The Death and Dying 

Words of Poor Mailie, 55 
Poor Maine's Elegy, 58 

To J.S. - - 60 
A Dream, - €6 

The Vision, - 7 J 

Address to the Unco Guid, 

or the Rigidly Righteous , 81 
Tarn Samson s Elegy, 84 

The Epitaph, - 87 

Per Contra, - ib 

Halloiueen, - 88 

The Auld Farmer s New 

Tears morning Saluta~ 

Hon to his Auld Mare, 100 
The Cotter's Saturday 

Night, - 104 

To a Mouse, - 1 J 1 



PAGE, 

A Winter Night, 113 

Epistle to Davie, 117 

The Lament, - 122 

Despondency, - 1 25 

Man ttas made to mourn, 127 
Winter, - 131 

A prayer in the prospect of 

Death, - 132 

Stanzas on same Occasion, 133 
Lines at a Rev, Friend's 

House, - 134 

The First Psalm, - 155 
The First Six Verses of 

the Ninetieth Psalm, ib. 
To a Mountain Daisy, 137 
To Ruin, - - 139 

To Miss L— - 140 

Epistle to a Young Friend, ib. 
A Prayer, - - 143 

On a Scotch Bard, - 144 
To a Haggis, - 146 

A Dedication to G H Esq 1 4$ 
To a Louse, - - 153 

Address to Edinburgh, 155 
Ef&stle to j . L. - 157 
To the same, - 162 

ToWS. - - 166 

Epistle to G. R. - 173 



CONTENTS. 



John Barleycorn, - 176 
A Fragment, - 178 

Song , It iv as upon a Lam- 
mas nighty - - - 181 
Song, JVotv tv est I'm winds, 182 
Song, Behind yon hills, 184 
Song, There's nought but 

care, - - 185 

Song, Again rejoicing na- 
ture sees, - - 186 
Song, The gloomy night, 188 
Song, From thee Eliza, 189 
Farewell to the Brethren of 
St Jameses Lodge, Tar- 
bolt on, - - - 190 
Song, JVc churchman am I, 1 9 1 
Epitaph on a celebrated rul- 
ing elder, - - 192 
On a noisy Polemic, - 193 
On ivee Johnny, - - ib. 
For the Author s Father, ib. 
For R. A. Esq. - - 194 
For G. H, Esq. - - ib. 



A Bard's Epitaph, - 194 
Elegy on Capt. M. H. 195 
Written in Friars-carse 

Hermitage, Nithside, 200 
Lament of Mary Queen of 

Scots, - 201 

To Robert Graham, Esq. 

of Fintry, - - 203 
Lament for the Earl of 

Glencairn, - - 206 
Tarn o* Shantcr, - 209 
On seeing a ivounded hare, 216 
On Captain Grose's Pere- 
grinations t — - 217 
To JVLiss C. a very Young 

Lady, - - 219 

Petition of Bruar Water, 220 
Written at the Falls of Fy- 

ers, near Lochness, 223 
Written over the Chimney- 
piece of the Inn at Ken- 
more, - - 224 
The Whistle, - - 225 



POEMS. 



THE TWA DOGS. 

A TALE. 

A was in that place o* Scotland's isle 
That bears the name o' Aidd King Coil, 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
Whan wearin thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgather d ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name they ca'd him Caesar, 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Whare sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His lockit, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman an' scholar ; 
But tho' he was o' high degree, 
The fieri t a pride, na pride had lie ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsy's messin : 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad stand, as glad to see him, 
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 
A 



2 

The tither was a ploughman's collie* 
A rhymin, rantin, ravin billie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
An* in his freaks had Luath ca'd him> 
After some dog in Highland sang *, 
Was made lang syne,— Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his tousie back 
Wee! clad wi' coat o* glossy black ; 
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuif'd an' snowkit ;. 
Whyles mice an' moudie worts they howkit - r 
Whyles scour'd awa in king excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion : 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down y 
An' there fcegan a lang digression, 
About the lords o' the creation. 

CAESAR. 

I've aften wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, an' a' his stents ; 

* CuthuHin's dog, in Ossian's Fingaii 



3 

He rises when he likes himsel ; 

His flunkies answer at the bell ; 

He ca's his coach ; he ca's his horse ; 

He draws a bonie silken purse 

As lang's my tail, whare thro' the steeks, 

The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin, 
Yet ev'n the ha* folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, an' siclike trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
Better than ony tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' : 
An* what poor cot-folk put their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

IUATH. 

Troth, Caesar, whyles they're fasht eneugh ; 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke, 
Barrin a quarry, and siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
An' nought but his han' daurg, to keep 
Them right an' tight in thack an' rape. 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters, 
He maist wad think a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hunger ; 
But how it comes, I never kend yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contentet, 



4 

An* buirdly chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CJESAR. 

But then, to see how ye're negleckit, 
How huff 'd, an' cuff 'd, and disrespeckit ! 
L — d, man ! our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an* sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' monie a tir e my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash ; 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse and swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, 
An' hear it a', an' fear an* tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 

LUATH. 

They're na sae wretched's ane wad think ; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink, 
They're sae accustomed wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 
Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided. 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their grushie weans and faithfu' wives, 
The prattling things are just their pride. 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 



An* whyles twapennie worth o' nappy, 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the Kirk and State affairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage an' priests, 
Wi' kindling fury i' their breasts ; 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An* ferlie at the folk in London. 

As black-fac'd Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' every station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An* sheds a heart-inspiring stream ; 
The luntin pipe an' sneechin-mill, 
Are handed round wi' right guid-will ; 
The canty auid folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes rantin thro' the house — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae bavkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd ; 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baich root an' branch, 
Some rascal's pridfu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha, ablins, thrang a-parliamcntin, 
For Britain'? guid his saul indentin.— 

A3 



CiESAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 

For Britain's guid! guid faith, I doubt it, 

Say rather gaun as Premiers lead him, 

An' saying ay or no's they bid him : 

At operas an' plays parading, 

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading, 

Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 

To Hague or Calais taks a waft, 

To mak a tour an' tak a whirl, 

To learn bon ton> and see the worl\ 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entails : 
Or by Madrid he taks the rout, 
To thrum guitars, an' fecht wi* nowt : 
Or down Italian Vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles ; 
Then bouses drumlie German water, 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival Signoras. 
For Britain's guid / for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

LUATH. 

Hcch man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae monie a braw estate i 
Are we sae foughtcn and harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi' countra sports, 
It wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
Tie Laird, the Tenant, and the Cotter I 



For thae rank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' their limrr.er, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moorcock, 
They ne'er a-bit they're ill to poor folk- 

But will ye tell me, master Caesar, 
Sure great folks' life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

CiESAR. 

L— -d, man, were ye but whyles whare I arr., 
The gentles ye wad* ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true they needna starve or sweat, 
Thro' winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair work to craze their banes, 
An' fill auld age wi' gripes an' granes ; 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They raak enow themsels to vex them ; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt t;hem, 
In like proportion, less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh, 
His acre's till'd, he's right eneugh ; 
A country lassie at her wheel, 
Her dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But gentlemen, an' ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounge, are lank an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy , 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless, 
Their nights im quiet, lang, an' restless. 



An* ev'n their sports, their balls, an' race s, 
Their galloping thro' public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an* art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches. 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an* wh-ring, 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, • 
As great an* gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither, 
They're a* run deils an* jads thegither. 
Whyles owre the wee bit cup an* platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks ; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 
There's some exceptions, man an' woman ; 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloamin brought the night : 
The burn-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone, 
The kye stood routin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat an' shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 



Gie him strong drink until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair ; 
An* liquor guid to fire his bluid 

That*s prest wi* grief an* care ; 
There let him bouse an' deep carouse, 

Wi* bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An* minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7« 



liET ither poets raise a fracas 

'Bout vines and wines, an' drucken Bacchus, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scotch beer can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my muse, guid auld Scotch Drink I 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' Pease an* Beans, at e'en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king 6' grain t 



10 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef ; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an 1 keeps us livin ; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine and grievin ; 

But oil'd by the-, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear, 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care, 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair, 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind, in time o' need, 

The poor man Vwine ; 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants ? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents f 

Are doubly fir'd« 



11 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in ! 
Or reekin on a New-year's mornin 

In cog or bicker, 
An* just a wee drap spiritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi? their grailh, 
O rare ! to see thee fizz and freath 

I' the lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin comes on like Death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
The brawnie, banie ploughman chiel 
Brings hard owrehip wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong fore-hammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumbling cuifs their dearies slight, 

Wae worth the name ( 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them, 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barky-hree 

Cement the quarrel f 
It's ay the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 



12 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason, 
To wyte her countrymen wi- treason 1 
But monie daily weet their weason, 

Wi' liquors nice* 
An' hardly, in a winter season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that Brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an* brash L 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drucken hash 

O* half his days ; 
An' sends, besides, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst facs. 

Ye Scots, vvha wish auld Scotland weel j 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel, 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter dearthfu' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi* a glunch 

O* sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi' honest men ! 

O Whisky ! soul o* plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes— they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither'sa — s! 



13 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a' : 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 

Is ta'en awa ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches 6* th* Excise, 
Wha mak the whisky stelh their prize ! 
Haud up thy han' Deil ! ance, twice, thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brumstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers, 

Fortune, if though but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an* tuhisly gill, 
An* rowth o* ryme to rave at will, 

Tak a* the rest, 
An* deaPt about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best* 



14 

THE AUTHORS 

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER 

To the Right Honourable the Scottish Representatives 
in the House of Commons. 

Dearest of Distillation ! last and best ! — 
How art thou lost ! — 

PARODY ON MILTON. 



I e Trisb Lords, ye Knights, an' Squires 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An* doucely manage our affairs 

In Parliament, 
To vou a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse I 

Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce 

To see her sitten on her a — , 

Low i ? the dust, 
An'' scriechen out prosaic verse, 

An** like to burst ! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me y s in great affliction, 
E'er sin 1 they laid that curst restriction 
) On Aquavit a ; 

An' rouse them up to strong conviction. 
An' move their pity. 



15 

Stan' forth, an* tell yon Premier Youth 

The honest, open, naked, truth : 

Tell him o' mine and Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

I)oes ony great man glunch an' gloom ? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi* them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack : 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back? 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin owre her thissle : 
Her mutchkin-stoup as toom's a whissfc, 
An' d n'd Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a stelU 
Triumphant crushn't like a mussel, 

Or lampet-shell. 

Then, on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Smuggler, right behint her, 

An* cheek-for-chow a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Ficking her pouch as bare as Winter, 

Of a' kin' coin. 
B2 



16 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
Bnt feels his heartVbluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's pot, 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plundered o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! Pm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire, clean out o' sight ! 
But could I like Montgomevies fight, 

Or gab like Bos well. 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight* 

An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honours, can ye see't, 
The kind auld cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An* tell them, wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some 0* you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric, clause on clause? 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo thro' St Stephen's wa ? s 

Auld Scotland's v;rar,'gs. 

Dempster, a true-blue Scot Fse warran ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran ; 
An* that glib-gabbit Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ; 
An' ane, a chap that's d — n'd auldfarran, 

Dundas his name. 



17 

Er skins, a spankie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells 9 Frederick an' Ilat/ y 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully> 

Might own for brithers. 

Arouse, my boys, exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle ! 
Or faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you wi' a reekin' whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid : 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie ;) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whisky. 

An' L — d, if ance they put her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An* rin her whittle to the hilt, 

I' the first she meets ! 

For G-d sake, sirs I then speak her fair, 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strive wi' a' your wit an' lear, 

To get remead. 
B3 



18 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en co we the caddie 1 
An 1 send him to his dicing>box 

An' sportin lady. 

Tell yon guid blind o' auld Boconnoc&'s, 

I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks 

An' drink his health in auld Nance Tinnoch * t 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 

I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 

lie need na fear their foul reproach, 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-rnaxtie, queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue, 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
And if she promise auld or young, 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung, 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye, 

* A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mauchiine, 
where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid 
Scotch Drink, 



19 

Then tho* a Minister grow dorty, 

An* kick your place p 

Ye'll snap your fingers, poor and hearty* 
Before his face. 

God bless your Honours a' your days, 
Wi' soups o' kail, an* brats o' claise, 
In spite of a* the thievish kaes 

That haunt St Jamie's /■ 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays, 

While Rab his name is, 

POSTSCRIPT* 

Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies, 
See future wines, rich clust'ring rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies ; 

But, blyth an' frisky, 
She eyes ber freeborn, martial boys 

Tak afF their whisky. 

What though their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves* 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp— ra shot — they're afF, a 1 throuther, 

To save their skin, 



20 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill. 
Say, sic is royal Geordie's will, 

An' there's the foe ; 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him : 
Death comes ! — wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him, 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland,, my auld respectit mither ! 
The' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam : 

Freedom and Whisky gang thegither, 

Tak aff your dram *. 

* This was wrote before the Act anent the Scottish 
Distilleries, of Session 1786 ; for which Scotland and 
the Author return their most grateful thanks t 



21 
THE HOLY FAIR*. 



A robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation ; 
A mask that like the gorget shevv'd, 

Dye- varying on the pigeon, 
And for a mantle, large and broad, 

He wrapt him in religion. 

HYPOCRIST-A-LA-M0D2. 



XJpon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air ; 
The rising sun owre Gabion muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furs, 

The lav rocks they were chantin 

Fu' sweet that day* 

As Hghtsomely I glowrM abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way. 
Twa had manteels o* dolerV black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining 

Fu' gay that day. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west of Scot- 
land, for a sacramental occasion, 



22 

The twa appeared like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, an' claes ; 
Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes ; 
The third cam up, hap-stap-an'-loup, 

As light as ony lamie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e^er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, ' Sweet lass, 
< I think ye seem to ken me ; 

* I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 

* But yet I canna name ye.' 
Quo 1 she, an' laughin as she spak, 

An' taks me by the hands, 
' Ye, for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 
4 Of a* the ten commands 

A screed some day. 

* My name is Fun, — your cronie dear, 

* The nearest friend ye hae ; 
6 An' this is Superstition here, 

4 An' that's Hypocrisy. 
6 I'm gaun to ■ Holy Fair, 

* To spend an hour in daffin : 

* Gin ye'll go there, yon runkl'd pair, 
€ We will get famous laughin, 

« At them this day.' 

Quo' I, f With a' my heart I'll do't ; 

* I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 
4 An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

6 Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin !' 



23 

Then I gaed hamc at crowdie-time, 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side 3 

Wi* monie a wearie body, 

In droves that day. 

Here, farmers gash, in ridin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cottars ; 
There swankies young, in braw braid-claith ? 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin, barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter, 
Wi' siveet-mdk cheese , in mony a whang, 

An'farlsy bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu 1 crump that day, 

When by the plate, we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go, to see the show, 

On every side they're gath'rin ; 
Some carryin dails, some chairs an' stools, 

An 1 some are busy bleth-rin, 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the showers, 
An' screen our countra Gentry, 

There racer Jess, an' twa three wh-res, 
Are blinkin at the entry. 

Here sits a raw of tittlin jads, 

Wi' heaving breast an' bare neck ; 

An' there a batch o 1 wabster lads. 



24 

Blackguarding frae K— — k, 

For fun this day* 

Here, some are thinkin on their sins, 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays ; 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi* screw'd up, grace proud faces, 
On that a set o' chaps, at watch, 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day, 

O happy is that man, an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him, 
Wi' arm reposM on the chair-back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For — - speels the holy door, 

Wi* tidings o' d-mn-t-on. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G — » present him, 
The vera sight o > 's face, 

To his ain het hame had sent him 
Wi* fright that day. 



25 

Hear how he clears the points o' Faith, 

Wi' rattlin an' wi' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He's stampin, an' he's jumpin ! 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up snout, 

His eldritch squeel an' gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plaisters, 
On sic a day. 

But hark 1 the tent has chang'd its voice ; 

There's peace an' rest nae langer j 
For a* the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
... opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice an' on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

O* moral powers an' reason ? 
His English style, an' gestures fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socratus or Antonine y 

Or some auld Pagan heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote, 
Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 

For ■ — frae the water-fit. 

Ascends the holy rostrum. 
C 



26 
See, up he's got the word o' G — , 
An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 
While Common~Sense has ta'en the road, 
An' aff, an' up the Cowgate *, 

Fast, fast that day. 

Wee neist the Guard relieves, 

An* Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weels believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But faith ! the birkie wants a manse. 

So, cannilie he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins-wise o'ercomes him, 

At times that day. 

Now butt an' ben the change-house fills 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes an' gills, 

An' there the pint-stoup clatters : 
While thick an' thrang, an 1 loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic an' wr Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O r wrath that day. 

Leeze me on Drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either School or College : 
It kindles Wit, it waukens Lear, 

It pangs us fu' o' Knowledge. 
Be't whisky gill, or penny-wheep, 

Or ony" stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinkin deep, 

* A street so called, which faces the tent in - 



27 

To kittle up our notion, 

By night or day. 

The lads an 1 lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith saul an ' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk, 

They're makin observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the L — 9 s ain trumpet touts* 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts, 

Black is na sparin : 

His piercin words, like Highlan* swords, 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o 1 hell, vvhare devils dwell, 

Our vera ' sauls does harrow *!' 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottomM, boundless pit, 

FuTd fV o lowin brumstane, 
Wha's ragin flame, an' scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane ! 
The half asleep start up wi 1 fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neighbour snorin 
Asleep that day. 

* Shakespeare's Hamlet, 
C 2 



28 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill, 

When they were a' dismist ; 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caups, 

Amang the furms an' benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about, in lunches 

An' dawds, that day. 

In comes a gaucie gash guid-wife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer, 
The auld guid-men, about the gracc 9 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' gies them't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie his braw claithing ! 
O wives ! be mindfu\ ance yoursel 

How bonie lads ye wanted, 
An- dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day. 

Now Clinkumbelly wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an* croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow. 

Some wait the afternoon. 



29 

At slaps the billies halt a blink, 
Till lasses strip their shoon ! 

Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 
They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day convirts, 

CV sinners an' o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane gin night are gane. 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There some are fu' o' love divine ; 

There s some are fu* o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

Mav end in houghmagandie 

Some ither day. 



DEATH AND DR HORNBOOK, 

A TRUE STORY. 

Oome books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never pennM j 
Ev'n ministers they hae been kennM, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousin whid at times to vend, 

And naiPt wi' scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
C3 



so 

Is just as true's the deil's in h-11, 
Or Dublin city ; 

That e'er he nearer comes oursel 
*3 a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 

I was na fu% but just had plenty ; 

I stacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kent ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The risin moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns, wi* a' my power 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
An' todlin down on Willie's mill, 
Settin my staff wi* a* my skill, 

To keep me sicker ^ 
Tho* leeward whyles against my will, 

I took a bicker. 

I there wi* Something did forgather, 

That put me in an eerie-swither ; 

An* awfu* scythe, out-owre ae shouther, 

Clear danghV hang ; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an* lang. 



t 



{ 



31 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ; 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp, and sma, 

As cheeks o' branks. 

* Guid-een,' quo I : c Friend hae ye been mawin, 

* When ither folk are busy sawin * I' 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan% 

But naething spak : 
At length, says I, * Friend, whare ye gaun, 

* Will ye go back ?' 

It spak right howe, — My name is Death, 
\ But be na fley'd,'— Quoth I, « Guid faith ! 
4 Ye're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

* But tent me, billie ; 

* I red ye weel, tak care o' scaith ; 

* See, there's a gully t* 

1 Guidman,' quo* he, * put up your whittle ; 
' I'm no design'd to try its mettle : 
■ But if I did, I wad be kittle 

* To be mislear'd, 
' I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard/ 

* Weel, weel 1' says I, * a bargain be't ; 

f Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 

* We'll ease our shanks, an' tak a seat, 

* Come, gie's your news ! 

* This rencounter happened in seed-time X78r. 



32 

c This whyle * ye hae been monie a gate, 
4 At monie a house/ 

4 Ay, ay,' quo' he, an' shook his head, 
* It is e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
4 Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

* An* choke the breath : 
4 Folk maun do something for their bread, 

< An' sae maun Death. 



f Sax thousand years are nearhand fled 

4 Sin' I was to the butching bred, 

4 An' mony a scheme in vain's been laid, 

* To stap or scar me ; 
c Till ane Hornbook's f taen up the trade, 

An' faith, he'll waur me. 

* Ye ken Jack Hornbook i* the Clachan, 

* Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan ; 
4 He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan ^ a 

* And ither chaps, 
4 The weans haud out their fingers, laughin, 

* And pouk my hips. 

4 See, here's a scythe, an' there's a dart, 
4 They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heart ; 
4 But Doctor Hornbook wi' his art 
' And cursed skill, 

* An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. 

f This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is professionally a 
brother of the Sovereign Order of the Ferula ; but, by in* 
tuition and inspiration, is at once an Apothecary, Sur- 
geon and Physician. 

| Buchan's Domestic Medicine, 



33 

Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

D n'd haet they'll kill ! 

< 'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gane ; 

* I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

1 Wi* less, I'm sure I've hundreds slain ; 

* But deil-ma-care I 
i It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

* But did na mair. 

6 Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
' And had sae fortified the part, 
6 That when I looked to my dart, 

* It was sae blunt, 

* Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 
1 O' a kail-runt. 

* I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 

i I nearhahd cowpit wi' my hurry, 
' But yet the bauld Apothecary, 

i Withstood the shock, 

* 1 might as weel hae try'd a quarry 

* O' hard whin-rock. 

' Ev'n them he canna get attended, 

c Altho' their face he ne'er had kend it, 

* Just — - in a kail-blade, and send it, 

c As soon's he smells't, 
' Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 
< At ance he tells't, 

' And then a' doctor's saws an' whittles, 
O' a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 



' A 1 kinds o 1 boxes, mugs, an* bottles, 

f He's sure to hae ; 
i Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

< As A, B, C. 

< Calces o' fossils, earths, an 1 trees ; 

< True SaLmarinum o* the seas ; 

* The Farina of beans an 1 pease, 

' He has't in plenty ; 
6 Aqua*fontis, what you please, 

< He can content ye* 

6 Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

< Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

* Or Mite-horn shavings, films, scrapins, 

' Distill'd per se ; 

< Sal-alkali o 5 midge-tail clippins, 

* An' mony mae* 

< Wae's me for Johnny Ged's * Hole now,' 
Quoth I, * If that thae news be true ! 

* His braw calf-ward, whare gowans grew 

* Sae white an* bonie, 

? Nae doubt, they'll rive it wi' the plew ;— 
' They'll ruin Johnny P 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, * Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 

* Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

* Tak ye nae fear : 

c They'll a' be drench'd wi' mony a sheugh^ 
f In twa- three year. 

* The Gravedigger. 



35 

« Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, 

* By loss o' blood, or want o' breath, 

* This night, I'm free to tak my aith, 

« That Hornbook's skill 
[ Has clad i score i' their last claith, 
1 By drap and pill. 

( An honest wabster to his trade, 

( Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bred, 

< Gat tippence worth to mend her head, 

< When it was sair ; 
i The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

' But ne'er spak main 

* A countra Laird had taen the batts, 
' Or some curmurring in his guts, 

* His only son for Hornbook sets, 

+ i And pays him well ; 

' The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 
* Was Laird himsel. 

6 A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 

* Some ill-brew'd drink had hov'd her wame, 

* She trusts hersel to hide the shame, 

f In Hornbook'' scare ; 

* Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 

1 To hide it there. 

' That's just a swatch o' Horoonbk\ way, 

* Thus goes he on from day to day, 
' Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for't : 
■ Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

< Wi' his d— n'd dirt \ 



36 
< But hark ! I'll tell you o' a plot, 

* Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't ; 
« I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

* As dead's a herrin i 

* Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

' He gets his fairin !' 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twa! y 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

An' sae did Death* 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 
Ins cr tied to J. i?.........» Esq. Ayr. 

J. he simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet in the green thorn 

bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er 

the hill ; 
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed? 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 



37 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train'd to arms, in stern misfortune's field, 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? 
No ! the*' his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward* 
Still, if some Patron's generous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace ; 
When B befriends his humble name, 

And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss to give alone excels. 



>i!s, j 
piles, J 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack andjrape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
O' coming Winter's biting frosty breath ; 
The bees rejoicing o'er their simmer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds and flowers delicious spoil 
Seal'd up wi' frugal care in massive waxen pi- 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er. the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brumstane reek ; 
The thundering guns are heard on every side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nair mair the flower in field or meadow springs ; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concerts jings. 
D 



38 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some but half-lang tree ; 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days,- ) 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon- 
tide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in 

the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr 9 
By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care, 
He left his bed, and took his wayward rout. 
And down by Simpson's * wheel'd the left about : 
(Whether impelPd by all-directing Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
Or whether wrapt in meditation high, 
He wander'd out, he knew not where, nor why ; ) 
The drowsy Dungeon-clock \ had number'd two, 
And Wallace-Tower t had sworn the fact was true: 
The tide-swoln Frith, with sullen sounding roar, 
Thro' the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore: 
All else was husfTd as Nature's closed ee j 
The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree : 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream : 
When lo f on either hand the listening Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gcs % drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on the Auld Brig, his airy shape uprears, 
The kher flutters o'er the rising piers ; 

* A noted tavern at the Auld-Brig end. 

•f The two steeples. i The Gos-hawk, or Falcotr; 



39 
Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 
And ken the lingo o" the spiritual folk ; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them; 
And even the vera deils they b rawly ken them :) 
Auld Brig appeared, of ancient Pictish race, 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seemM as he wP Time had warsled lang, 
Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 
New Brig was buskit in a bravv new coat, 
That he, at London frae ane Adams got ; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an 1 whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round wi' anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ; 
It chanced his new-come neebor took his ee, 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 
fie, down the water, gies him this guideen. — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na,frien% ye'll think ye 're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a Brig as auld as me, 
Tho* faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

new erig. • 

Auld Vandal ! ye but shew your little mense, 
Just much about it wi* your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa whcel-barrows tremble when they meet ; 
D 2 



40 

Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o y modern time I 
There's men 6* taste would tak the Due aUstr earn* 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and 6wim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi* the view 
Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you, 

AULTJ BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff 'd up wi' windy pride I 
This monie a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho' wi* crazy eild Fm sair forfaim, 
I'll be a Brig when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better, 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o^rfiow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Cot/, 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal\ draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, 
In monie a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an* brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from Glenbuch % down to the Raitonhey §, 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthened tumbling sea : 

* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 

f The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places 
in the West of Scotland, where those fancy -scaring beings 
known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinacious- 
ly to inhabit S 

| The source of the river of Ayr. 

§ A small landing-place above the large quay. 



41 

Then down ye'Il tumble, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine architecture ', trowth, I needs must say't o't \ 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o\ I 
Gaunt,' ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threatening jut like precipices ; 
O'er-arching, moulding, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows an' doors in nameless sculpture's drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some beldam statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim : 
Forms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
There likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrec 
tion. 



auid brig. 
O ye, my dear remember'd, ancient yealins, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelins ; 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' monie a Bad}. , 
Wha i' the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
D 3 



:! 



42 

Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Conveners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners j 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown* 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And ( what would now be strange ) ye godly writers: 
A* ye douce folk I've born aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degenerate race ! 
Nae Ianger Reverend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scotch hold forth a plain braid story : 
Nae Ianger thrifty Citizens* an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint* or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The berry men t and ruin o' the country ; 
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d New 
Brigs and Harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now haud ye there ! for faith you've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can mak to through. 
As for your Priesthood I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But under favour o* your Ianger beard, 
Abuse o* Magistrates might weel be spared ; 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Aijr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth i a Citizen,' a term o' scandal s 




43 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise, priggin owrehopsan' raising 
Or gather'd liberal views in Bonds and Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense for once betray'd 

them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, 
No. man can tell ; but, all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o'er the watery glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan *, thairm-inspiring sage, "| 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, * 
When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with f 

Highland rage ; J 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And even his matchless hand with finer touch in- 

spir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appeared, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
* A well known performer of Scotish music on the violin. 



44 

Harmonious concert rung in every part, 

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

< The Genius of the stream in front appears, 

A venerable Chief, advanced in years ; 

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 

His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 

Sweet FemalerBeauty hand in hand with Spring ; 

Then, crownM with flowery hay, came Rural Joy, 

And Summer with his fervid-beaming eye : 

All-cheering Plenty with her flowing horn, 

Led yellow Autumn wreathed with nodding corn; 

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary shew 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next follow'd Courage, with his martial stride, 

From where the Fed wild-woody coverts hide ; 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form, came from the towers of Stair : 

Learning and Worth, in equal measures trode, 

From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazle 

wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of Death, 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kind- 
ling wrath. 






45 
THE ORDINATION. 



For sense they little owe to frugal heaven 

To please the mob, they hide the little given. 

K. wabsters fidge an' claw, 

An' pour your crceshie nations ; 
An* ye wha leather rax and draw, 

Of a* denominations ; 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk ane an' a% 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb-Ss in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-11, 

Cam in wi' Maggy Lauder * ; 
But oft made her yell, 

An' R sair misca'd her ; 
This day M< taks up the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An* set the bairns to daud her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn King David owre, 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O* double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor ; 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on 

the admission of the late reverend and worthy MrL 

to the Laigh Kirk, 



46 

This day the Kirk kicks up a stour, 
Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 

For heresy is in her power, 

And gloriously she'll whang her, 
Wi* pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wr* vigour, 
How graceless Ham * leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineas f drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh- re-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah J, the scaulding jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' the inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed, 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin' ; 

Spare them nae day. 

Now, auld K cock thy tail, 

An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rout out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gosfiel-kaiU 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 

* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. f Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. B. 
% Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25. 



47 

An' runts 6* grace the pick and wale, 
No gi'en by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Baiel's streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our riddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin' ; 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin' ; 
O rare, to see our elbucks wheep, 

And a' like lamb-tails flym' 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang Patronage., Wi* rod o' aim, 
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin', 

As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn, 
Has proven to its ruin ; 

Our patron, honest man ! G/~ 



He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
And like a godly elect bairn, 
He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this day, 

Now R harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever ; 
Or try the wicked town of A — , 

For there they'll think you clever ; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the N-th-rt-n repair, 

And turn a carpet weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 



48 

M and you were just a match, 

We never haud sic twa drones, 
Auld Hornle did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin' baudrons ! 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry him in his caudrons ; 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brumstane squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes, 

She's swingein thro' the city ! 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, Learning with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense she's gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie BeaU'ie, 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell 

Between his twa companions. 
See, how she peels the shin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there they're packed afF to h-U, 

An' banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come, bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys, 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 






49 

M g ■■ » R > are the boys,, 

That Heresy can torture ; 

They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 
An* cowe her measure shorter, 

By th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

An's here's for a conclusion, 
To every New Light * mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion ; 
Jf mair they deave us wi' their din, 

Or patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and every skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil some day. 



THE CALF. 

To the Rev. Mr 



On his Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. 

" And they shall go forth, and grow up like CALVES 
« of the stall/' 

Jught, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tho' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now, 

God knows an unco Calf! 

* * New Light' is a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, 
for those religious opinions which Dr Taylor of Norwich 
ha? defended so strenuously. 
' E 



50 

And should some patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find 

Ye're still as great a Stiri. 

But, if the Lover's rapturM hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it every heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a Stot ! 

Tho' when some kind, connubial dear, 

Your but-an'-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And, in your lug, most reverend J , 

To hear you roar and rowte, 

Few men o' sense will doubt your claims, 
To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye're numberM wi* the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
\W justice they may mark you,r head — - 

' Here lies a famous Bullock P 



51 
ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



O Prince ! O Chief of many throned powers, 
That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war. 

MILTON. 



O thou, whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wlia in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brumstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches. 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a w r ee, 
And let poor damned bodies be ; 
Prn sure sma pleasure it can gie> 

Ev'n to a cklly 
To skelp an* scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy power, an' great thy fame. 

Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 

And tho' yon lowan heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far : 
An* faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur, 

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 
Tiding the kirks ; 
E2 



52 

Whyles in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Graunle say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruinM castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way, 

Wi* eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, ruetlin, thro* the boortnes comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shone down wi' sklentin light, 

Wi* you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

A yont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

\W wavin sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor, quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 

On whistling wingSo 

Let warlocks grim, an' withered hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 



53 

They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 
Wi' wicked speed ; 

An* in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 
Owre howkit dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain ; 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, O i the yellow treasure's taen, 

By witching skill ; 
An* dawtit, twal-pint Hawkins gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 

On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse; 

When the best wark-lcom i' the house, 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

Whan thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinghn icy-board, 
Then Water '-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An 1 nighted travellers are allurM 

To their destruction. 

An' aft, your moss-traversing Sfiunkies 
13ecoy the wight that late an' drunk is ; 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er maiv to rise. 
£3 



31< 

' A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an* bottles, 

f He's sure to hae ; 
< Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

< As A, B, C. 

' Calces o 9 fossils, earths, an 1 trees ; 

* True Sal-marinum o' the seas ; 

* The Farina of beans an 1 pease, 

1 He has't in plenty ; 
c Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

1 He can content ye. 

6 Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 

* Urinus Spiritus of capons ; 

' Or Mite-horn shavings, films, scrapins, 

< Distill'd per se ; 

* Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippins, 

* An' mony mae. 

< Wae's me for Johnny Ged's * Hole now,* 
Quoth I, ' If that thae news be true ! 

* His braw calf-ward, whare gowans grew 

' Sae white an* bonie, 
' Nae doubt, they'll rive it wi' the plew ;— 

* They'll ruin Johnny P 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, * Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 

* Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

* Tak ye nae fear : 

c They'll a* 1 be drench'd wi' mony a sheugh., 
t In twa- three year. 

* The Gravedigger. 



35 

< Whare I kill'd ane, a fair strae-death, 

* By loss o' blood, or want o' breath, 
« This night, I'm free to tak my aith, 

« That Hornbook's skill 

* Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

* By drap and pill. 

1 An honest wabster to his trade, 

' Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel-bredj 

* Gat tippence worth to mend her head, 

c When it was sair ; 
' The wife slade cannie to her bed, 

1 But ne'er spak main 

* A countra Laird had taen the batts,. i 

* Or some curmurring in his guts, 

* His only son for Hornbook sets, 

c And pays him well ; 

* The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets, 
' Was Laird himsel. 



' A bonie lass, ye kend her name, 

* Some ill-brew'd drink had hov'd her wame, 

* She trusts hersel to hide the shame, 

? In Hornbook scare ; 

* Horn sent her afF to her lang hame, 

* To hide it there. 

i That's just a swatch o' Horoonbkh way, 
i * Thus goes he on from day to day, 
6 Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for't : 
< Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

■ Wi' his d— n'd dirt J 



36 
« But hark ! I'll tell you o' a plot, 

* Tho' dinna ye be speakin o't ; 

* I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

* As dead's a herrin : 

* Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

' He gets his fairin !' 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the tival. 

Which rais'd us baith 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

An' sae did Death. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

A POEM. 
Inscribed to J. B..„ , Esq* Ayr. 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough* 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough ; 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet in the green thorn 

bush ; 
The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er 

the hill ; 
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed? 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 



37 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train'd to arms, in stern misfortune's field, 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose ? 
No ! thx>' his artless strains he rudely sings, 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings, 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward* 
Still, if some Patron's generous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace ; 
When B — — ■ — befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, 
The godlike bliss to give alone excels. 



piles, J 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack andjrape secure the toil-won crap ; 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
O' coming Winter's biting frosty breath ; 
The bees rejoicing o'er their simmer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds and flowers delicious spoil 
Seal'd up wi' frugal care in massive waxen pil 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er. the weak, 
The death o' devils, smoor'd wi' brumstane reek ; 
The thundering guns are heard on every side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather' d field-mates, bound by Nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage li? : 
(What warm poetic heart, but inly bleeds, 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds ! ) 
Nak mair the flower in field or meadow springs • 
Jvae mair the grove with airy concerts xings. 
D 



Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' some but half-lang tree ; 
The hoary morns precede the sunny days. 
Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon- 
tide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in 

the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 
By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' care, 
He left his bed, and took his wayward rout, 
And down by Simpson's * wheel'd the left about ; 
(Whether impelPd by all-directing Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate ; 
Or whether wrapt in meditation high, 
He wander'd out, he knew not where, nor why ; } 
The drowsy Dungeon-clock \ had number'd two, 
And Wallace-Tower X had sworn the fact was true: 
The tide-swoln Frith, with sullen sounding roar, 
Thro' the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore: 
All else was hush'd as Nature's closed ee ; 
The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree : 
The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept, gently crusting, o'er the glittering stream: 
When lo ! on either hand the listening Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gcs % drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on the Auld Brig, his airy shape uprears, 
The kher flutters o'er the rising piers ; 

* A noted tavern at the Auld-Brig end. 

•f The two steeple?. i The Goshawk, or Ifolcoflt 



39 

Our warlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 

The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 

(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 

And ken trie lingo 0' the spiritual folk ; 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them; 

And even the vera deils they brawly ken them :) 

Auld Brig appeared, of ancient Pictish race, 

The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 

He seemM as he wi^ Time had warsled lang, 

Yet, teughly doure, he bade an unco bang. 

New Brig was buskit in a bravv new coat, 

That he, at London frae ane Adams got ; 

In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 

Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 

The Goth was stalking round wi' anxious search, 

Spying the time-worn flaws in every arch ; 

It chanc'd his new-come neebor took his ee, 

And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 

Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 

lie, down the water, gies him this guideen. — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na,frien% ye'll think ye 're nae sheep-shank, 
Ance ye were streekit owre frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a Brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day, I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that day come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW ERIG. y 

Auld Vandal ! ye but shew your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa whcel-barrows tremble when they meet ; 
D 2 



40 

Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and lime, 
Compare wi' borne Brigs o y modern time ? 
There's men o' taste would tak the DucaUstream* 
Tho' they should cast the vera sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi* the view 
Of sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff 'd up w? windy pride ! 
This monie a year I've stood the flood an' tide $ 
And tho' wi* crazy eild I'm sair forfaim, 
I'll be a Brig when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better, 
When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o^rflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately Lugar^s mossy fountains boil, 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal\ draws his feeble source* 
Arous'd by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, 
In monie a torrent down the snaw-broo rowes ; 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an* brigs, a' to the gate ; 
And from Glenhuch % down to the Raitonkey § 9 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthened tumbling sea : 

* A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 

f The banks of Garpal Water is one of the few places 
in the West of Scotland, where those fancy -scaring beings, 
known by the name of Ghaists, still continue pertinacious- 
ly to inhabit 

\ The source of the river of Ayr. 

§ A small landing-place above the large quay. 



41 

Then down ye'll tumble, deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumliejaups up to the pouring skies. 
A lesson sadly teaching to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine architecture, trovvth, I needs must say't o't ! 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o'r ? 
Gaunt,' ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threatening jut like precipices ; 
O'er-arching, moulding, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows an' doors in nameless sculpture's drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some beldam statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim :' 
Forms might be worshipp'd on t lie bended knee, ' 
And still the second dread command 1 
There likeness is not found on earth, 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason, reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of later times, wha held the notion, 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrec- 
tion. 



auid brig. 
O ye, my dear remember'd, ancient yealins, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelins ; 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' monie a Bad}. , 
Wha i' the paths o' righteousness did toil ay ; 
n 3 



\ bended knee,^ 
/be free, > 

i, in air, or sea; J 



Ye dainty Deacons^ and ye douce Convener s 9 
To whom our modern3 are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae blest this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren o' the sacred gown* 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the smiters ; 
And (what would now r be strange) ye godly writers: 
A' ye douce folk I've born aboon the broo, 
Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation* 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degenerate race ! 
Nae Ianger Reverend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scotch hold forth a plain braid story : 
Nae Ianger thrifty Citizens^ an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint* or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin o' the country ; 
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d New 
Brigs and Harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now baud te there ! for faith you've said enough, 
And m tickle mair than ye can mak to through. 
As for your Priesthood I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But under favour o' your Ianger beard, 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spar'd ; 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Aijr^ wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o' scandal \ 



43 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wha grew wise, priggin owrehopsan' raising 
Or gather'd liberal views in Bonds and Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
Had shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp, 
And would to Common-sense for once betray'd 

them, 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, 
No. man can tell ; but, all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc'd ; 
They footed o'er the watery glass so neat, 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M'Lauchlan *, thairm-inspiring sage, "| 
Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, * 
When thro' his dear Strathspeys they bore with j 

Highland rage ; J 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And even his matchless hand with finer touch in- 

spir'd ! 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
* A well known performer of Scotish music on the violin. 



44 

Harmonious concert rung in every part, 

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

, The Genius of the stream in front appears, 

A venerable Chief, advanced in years ; 

His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 

His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 

Sweet Female?Beauty hand in hand with Spring ; 

Then, crown'd with flowery hay, came Rural Joy, 

And Summer with his fervid-beaming eye : 

All-cheering Plenty with her flowing horn, 

Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn; 

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary shew 

By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next follow'd Courage, with his martial stride, 

From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form, came from the towers of Stair : 

Learning and Worth, in equal measures trode, 

From simple Calrine, their long-lov'd abode : 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazle 

wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of Death, 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kind- 
ling wrath. 



45 
THE ORDINATION. 



For sense they little owe to frugal heaven 

To please the mob, they hide the little given. 

K. wabsters fidge an' claw, 

An' pour your creeshie nations ; 
An* ye wha leather rax and draw, 

Of a* denominations ; 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk ane an' a% 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb»s in a raw, 

An' pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h-11, 

Cam in wi' Maggy Lauder * ; 
But oft made her yell, 

An' R sair misca'd her ; 
This day M< taks up the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An* set the bairns to daud her 
\W dirt this day. 

Mak haste an' turn King David owre, 

An' lilt wi 1 holy clangor ; 
O* double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor ; 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on 

the admission of the late reverend and worthy MrL 

to the Laigh Kirk. 



46 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stour, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For heresy is in her power, 

And gloriously she'll whang her, 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come let a proper text be read, 

\n' touch it aff wi* vigour, 
How graceless Ham * leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineas f drove the murdering blade, 

Wi' wh- re -abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah J, the scaulding jade, 
Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' the inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That Stipend is a carnal weed, 

He taks but for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock to feed, 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial rains that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin' ; 

Spare them nae day. 



Now, auld K cock thy tail, 

An' toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rout out-owre the dale, 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o* gospeUhaiU 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 

* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. f Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8, 
\ Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25. 



: ' 



47 

An' runts o y grace the pick and wale. 
No gi'en by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll weep, 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin' ; 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin' ; 
O rare, to see our elbucks wheep, 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin' 

Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, 
Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin', 

As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn, 
Has proven to its ruin ; 

Our patron, honest man ! G/- 



He saw mischief was brewin' ; 
And like a godly elect bairn, 
He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this dav, 

j 

Now R harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever ; 
Or try the wicked town of A — , 

For there they'll think you clever 3 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a Shaver ; 
Or to the N-th-rt-n repair, 

And turn a carpet weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 



48 

M and you were just a match, 

We never haud sic twa drones, 
Auld Hornle did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin' baudrons ! 
And ay he catch'd the tither wretch, 

To fry him in his caudrons ; 
But' now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a* his brumstane squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes, 

She's swingein thro 1 the city ! 
Hark, how the ninc-tail'd cat she plays ! 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, Learning with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense she's gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Eeattie, 

Her plaint this day. 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell 

Between his twa companions. 
See, how she peels the shin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions ! 
Now there they're packed afF to h-U, 

An' banish'd our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come, bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys, 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 






49 

M g ■ ■ » R ■ ■ > are the boys,. 
That Heresy can torture ; 

They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 
An* cowe her measure shorter, 

By th* head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

An's here's for a conclusion, 
To every New Light * mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion ; 
Jf mair they deave us wi' their din, 

Or patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, and every skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil some day. 



THE CALF. 

To the Rev. Mr 



— -, 
On his Text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. 

" And they shall go forth, and grow up like CALVES 
" of the stall/ 4 

Juight, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tho' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now, 

God knows an unco Calf! 

* * New Light' is a cant phrase in the West of Scotland, 
for those rpligious opinions which Dr 'IV lor of Norwich 
has defended so strenuously. 
' E 



50 

And should some patron be so kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, Sir, but then we'll find 

Ye're still as great a Stirk. 

But, if the Lover's rapturM hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it every heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a Slot ! 

Tho' when some kind, connubial dear, 

Your but-an'-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And, in your lug, most reverend J , 

To hear you roar and rowte, 

Few men o* sense will doubt your claims, 
To rank amang the nowte. 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi* justice they may mark yoiu* head — 

< Here lies a famous Bullock f* 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 



O Prince ! O Chief of many throned powers, 
That led th' embattl'd Seraphim to war. 

MILTON. 



thou, whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brumstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches, 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
And let poor damned bodies be ; 
Pm sure sma pleasure it can gie, 

Ev'n to a (lei I, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An* hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy power, an' great thy fame, 

Far kend an' noted is thy name ; 

And tho' yon lowan heugh's thy hame, 

Thou travels far : 
An* faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roaring lion, 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 
Tirling the kirks ; 



52 

Whyles in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend Graunie say, 
In ianely glens ye like to stray ; 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way, 

Wi* eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Graunie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bummin, 

\W eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortnes comin, 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shone down wi 1 sklentin light, 

Wi* you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

A yont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

WV wavin sugh. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'd hair* stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor, quaick, quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter' d like a drake, 

On whistling wings., 

Let warlocks grim, an* withered hags t 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags, 






53 

They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags, 
Wi' wicked speed ; 

An* in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 
Owre bowk it dead. 

Thence, countra wives, wi' toil an' pain ; 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, O ! the yellow treasure's taen, 

By witching skill ; 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkins gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 

On young Guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ^ 

When the best wark-loom i' the house, 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

Whan thowes dissolve the snawy hoord, 
An' float the jinghn icy-board, 
Then Water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An 1 nightcd travellers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An* aft, your moss-tvaversiiig Sfiunkies 
l)ecoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous mom. 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er maiv to rise. 
£S 



54 

When masons'* mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell. 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first werepair'd, 
An' all the soul of love they shar'd, 

The raptured hour, 
Sweet on the fragrant, flowery swaird, 

In shady bower. 

Then, you, ye auld snic-drawing dog ! 

Ye came to Paradise incog. 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

( Black be your fa' ! ) 
And gied the infant world a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a.' 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz ? 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the Man of U% y 

Your spitefu' joke. 

An' how ye gat him i 7 your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scaubs and botches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' loos'd his ilL-tongued, wicked scawl, 

Was warst ava ? 






55 

But a 1 your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares, an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin* that day Michael * did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a* Lallan tongue or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' nowyauld Cloots, I ken your thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin. 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An 1 cheat you veto 

But fare ye weel, auld Nlchie ben t 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake, 
Pin wae to think upo' your den, 

Ev'n for your sake* 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS 

OF 

POOR MAILIE, 

THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWEs 
An unco mournfu* Tale* 

J\ s Malik and her lambs thegither, 

Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 

* Vide Milton, Book VI. 



56 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsPd in the ditch : 
There groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc * he cam doytin by. 
Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were nearhand ended, 
But, waes my heart, he coudna mend it ! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak, 
At length poor McuTie silence brak. 
' O thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
And bear them to my Master dear. 
4 Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will : 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an* packs o' woo ! 

* Tell him, he was a Master kin% 
An* ay was guid to me an* mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

* O bide him save their harmless lives, 
Frae dogs, an* tods, an* butchers' knives ! 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 

An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay, an* ripps o* corn. 
* A neebor herd callan. 



57 

c An' may they never learn the gaet3 
4 Of ither vain wanrestfu' fiets ! 

* To slink thro" slaps, an' reave an* steal, 

* At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 

4 So may they, like their great forbears, 

* For monie a year come thro' the sheers : 

* So wives will gie them bits o 1 bread, 

* And bairns greet for them when they're dead 

6 My poor tooft-lamb, my son and heir, 

* O, bid him breed him up wi' care ! 

* An' if he live to be a beast, 

4 To pit some havins in his breast ; 

* An' warn him, what I wmna name, 

* To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 

* An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 

4 Like ither menseless, graceless brutes, 

* An niest my yoime y silly thing, 

4 Gude keep thee frae a tether- string i 

* O, may thou ne'er forgather up 

* Wi' ony blastit moorland toop ; 

4 But ay keep mind to moop an' mell 

* Wi' sheep o* credit like thysel [ 

* An 1 now, my bairns, wi* my last breath, 
4 I lea'e me blessin wi 1 you baith : 

4 An' when you think upo' your Mither, 

* Mind to be kind to ane anither. 

* Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 

* To tell my master a' my tale ; 

4 An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 

* An* for thy pains thou's get my blether,* 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head 5 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

JLament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our Bardie's fate is at a close, 

Past a' remead ! 
The last sad cap-stane of his woes ; 

Poor Mailie's dead. 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That cou'd sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak our Bardie, dowie wear 

The mourning weed ; 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear, 

In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the town she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed : 
A frien d mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, 

Than Mailie dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence, 

Thro' thievish greed. 
Our Bardie, lanely* keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her y owe, 



59 

Comes bleating to him, owre the knowt> 
For bits o' bread ; 

And own the briny pearls rowe, 
For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 

Wi' tawted ket an* hairy hips, 

For her forbears were brought in ships, 

Frae yont the Tweed ; 
A bonier Jleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie's dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape^ 
That vile wanchancie thing — a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an* gape, 

Wi' chokin dread ; 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi* crape 

For Mailie dead, 

O' a* ye bards on bonie Doon ! 

An' wha in Ayr your chaunters tune \ 

Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed ! 
His heart will never get aboon, 

His Ma\lie\ dead. 



60 
TO J. S. 



Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul } 
Sweetener of life, and solder of society ! 
I owe thee much, 



Dear S ' ■ >, the sliest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock brief 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon, 
And every star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And every ither pair that's done, 

Mair taen I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious Carlin, Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you off, a human creature, 

On her first plan, 
An' in her freaks, on every feature, 

She's wrote the Man. 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 



61 

My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi* hasty summon ; 

JIae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin ? 

Some rhyme a neebor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme, (vain thought !) for needfu' cash ; 

Some rhyme to court the countra clash ; 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim, I never fash, 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat, 

An* damn'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit, 
Has bless'd me wi* a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This whyle my notion's taen a sklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent, 
But still the mair Fm that way bent, 

Something cries « Hoolie ! 

* I red you, honest man, tak tent ! 

i Ye'll shaw your folly. 

f There's ither poets, much your betters, 
1 Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
' Hae thought they had ensur'd their debtors, 
4 A' future ages ; 

* Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, 

' Their unknown pages.' 
F 



62 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang, 

I'll wander on, wi' tentless heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living, sound an* hale ; 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care o'er side ! 
An' large before Enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 

Is a' enchanted fairy-land, 

Where pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours, like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic-wand then let us wield ; 
For ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinklM face,, 
Gomes hoastin, hirplin, owre the field* 

Wi 1 creepin pace* • 



63 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamina 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin ; 
An* fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin ; 

An' social noise ; 
An* fareweel dear deludin womatiy 

The joy o' joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant in thy mornin, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adornin ! 
Cold-pausing Caution's lesson scornin, 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys at th* expected warning 

To joy an* play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves 5 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves* 

Some lucky find a flowery spot, 

For which they never toilM nor swat ; 

They drink the sweet, an' eat the fat, 

But care or pain, 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some Fortune chace ; 
Keen hope does every sinew brace ; 
Thro 1 fair, thro' foul, they urge the racc^ 

And seize the prey ; 
Then, canie in some cozie place 

They close the day. 
F2 



And ithers like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observm ; 
To right or left, eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age* obscure an ? starvin, 

They aften groan, 

Alas ! what bitter toil and strainin — - 
But truce with peevish, poor complainin ! 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waining ? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, * Ye Powers ! and warm implore^ 

i Tho' I should wander terra o'er, 

* In all her climes* 

* Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

* Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

1 Gie dreeping roasts to countra Lairds, 

* Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 

6 Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-guards, 

* And maids of honour, 

* And yill and whisky gie to Cairds^ 

' Until they sconner. 

* A title Dempster merits it ; 

* A garter gie to Willie Pitt ; 

< Gie wealth to same be-ledger'd Cit, 

* In cent, per cent, j 

* But give me real, sterling wit, 

* And I'm content, 






65 

1 While ye are pleasM to keep me hale, 
{ I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
' Be't Water -brose or Muslin-hail, 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
* As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

* To say the grace.* 

An anxious ee, I never throws, 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk beneath misfortune's blows, 

As weel's as I may ; 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compared wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing-pool, 
Your lives a dyke ! 

Nae hair-brain'd sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd nameless faces ! 
In arioso trills and graces ! 

Ye never stray, 
J3ut gravissimoy solemn bases, 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're mnu ; 
Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 
The rattling squad : 

1 see ye upward cast your eyes — 

—Ye ken the road. — 
F3 



66 

Whilst I — but I shall haud me there-— 
Wi' you 1 11 scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi 1 you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



A DREAM. 



Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames, with rea- 
son ; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted Treason. 



[On reading in the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, 
with the other parade of June 4* 1786, the Author was 
no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself trans- 
ported to the Birth-day Levee; and, in his dreaming 
fancy, made the following Address.] 

vju id-morn in to your Majesty i 

May heaven augment your blisses, 
On every new Birih-day ye see, 

A humble Poet wishes ! 
My Bardship here, at your Levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Amang the Birth-day dresses 

Sae fine this day, 

I see ye're complimented thrangj 
By monie a lord an* lady \ 



67 

* God save the king,' 's a cuckoo sang, 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel tum'd an' ready, 
Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But ay unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 

For me ! before a Monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither Pension, Post, nor Place, 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on Tour Grace, 

Your Kingship to bespatter ; 
There's monie waur been o' the Race, 

An' aiblins ane been better 

Than you this day. 

"Tis very true, my sovereign King^ 

My skill may weel be doubted, 
But Facts are chiels that winna ding. 

An' downa be disputed ; 
Your Royal Nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 
And now the third part o' the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Then did ae day. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 
To blame your Legislation, 

Or say ye wisdom want, or fire, 
To rule this mighty nation ; 

But faith ! I muckle doubt, my $ire 9 
Ye've trusted 'Ministration 



68 

To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 
Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now, ye've gien auld Britain peace* 

Her broken shins to plaister, 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester. 
For me, thank God ! my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, 
Or faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day, 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fellow's get, 

A name not Envy spairges), 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An* lessen a' your charges, 
But G-d-sake ! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonie Barges 

An' Boats this day* 

Adieu, my Liege ! may Freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
And may ye rax Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But sin' I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an*' subjection 

This great Birth-day, 






69 

Hail, Majesty most Excellent ! 

While Nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple Poet gies ye ? 
Thae benie Bairntime, Heaven has lent. 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till Fate stome day k sent 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day: 

For you young Potentate o' IV , 

I tell your Highness fairly* 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

Pm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may knaw your nails, 

An* curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er you brak Diana % s pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie 

By night or day» 

Yet aft a ragged Cowteh been known 

To mak a noble Aiver ; 
Sae may ye doucely fill a Throne, 

For a* their clishmaclaver : 
There him * at Agincourt wha shone j 

Few better Were or braver ; 
And yet wi' funny, queer Sir Jdhn\ 

He was an unco shaver 

For monie a day. 



For you, right reverend 0- 



Nane sets the Lawn- sleeve sweeter, 
* King Henry V. . 
t Sir John Fahtaff. See Shakespeare, 



70 

Altho 1 a ribbon at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer ; 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys o' Peter, 
Then, swith, and get a wife to hug 9 

Or trouth ye '11 stain the Mitre 

Some luckless day. 

Young royal Tarry Breels, I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her, 
A glorious Galley *, stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus* barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern, 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim, 

An', large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a% 

Ye royal Lasses dainty, 
Heaven make you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a-plenty ; 
But sneer na British boys awa% 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German Gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautet ; 
But ere the course o 9 life be through, 
It may be bitter sautet ; 
* Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal 



71 

An' I hae seen their cogie fou, 
That yet hae t arrow 't at it ; 

But or the day was done, I trow, 
The laggen they hae clautet 

Fu* clean that day. 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST *♦ 



Fhe sun had clos'd the winter day* 
The curlers quat their roarin play, 
An' hunger' d Mauken taen her way 

To kail-yards^ green 5 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 
Whare she has been. 

The threshers weary jlinging-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
An* when the day had closM his ee, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the Spence, right pensivelie, 
, I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
I sat and ey'd the spewin reek, 

* Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions 
of a digressive Poem. See his Cath-Loda, voh 2, of Mao 

pherson's Translation, 



72 

That fillM, wi* hoast-provoking smeek ; 
The auld clay-biggin ; 
And heard the restless rattons squeak 
About the riggin. 

All in this motty, misty clime, 
I backward musd on wasted time, 
Jiow I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

And done nae thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a Bank, and clarkit 

My cash account ; 
"VVhile here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, muttering, blockhead ! coof ! 
And heavM on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith, 
That I henceforth would be rhyme-firoof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick did draw ; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa% 
And by my ingle -lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 



Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ; 
I glowr'd as eerie's I'd been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 

Green slender leaf-clad Holly~houghs 
Were twisted graceful round her brows, 
I took her for some Scotisk Muse, 

By that same token ; 
And come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wad soon been broken. 

A c hair-brain'd sentimental trace' 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace, 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen , 
Till hauf a leg was scrimply seen, , 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
wSae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep tighis and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish d view, 

A well-inb wn land. 
G 



74 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost I 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods ; 
There, well-fed Irivlne stately thuds i 
Auld hermit jiijr sta' thro' his woods, 
On to the shore ; 

And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient Borough rear'd her head 
Still, as in Scottish story read, 

She boasts a race, 
To every nobler virtue bred, 

And poiish'd grace. 

jBy stately tower, or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendant in the air, 

Bold stems of Heroes, here and there 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a Race * heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 
In sturdy blows ; 
* The Wallaces. 









While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Suthron foes. / 

His Country's Saviour * ; mark him well ; 
Bold Richardton's + heroic swell ; 
The chief oe Sark + , who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless Fates expel 
His native land. 

There, where a scepter' d Plctisk R shade 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, pourtray'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featurM, undismay'd, 

They strode along. 

§ Thro* many a wild, romantic grove, 
Neur many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love, 
In musing mood.) 

* William Wallace. 

t Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to the immortal 
Preserver of Scotish independence. 

\ Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was second in com- 
mand under Douglas Earl of Ormond, at the famous battle 
on the banks of .Sark, fought anr.o 1448. That glorious 
victory was principally owing to the judicious conduct 
and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, who 
died of his wounds after the action. 

|| Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of 
Kyle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition says, 
aear the family-seat of the Montgomeries of Coilsfieid, 
where his burial-place is still shewn. 

5 Barskimming, the seat of the Lord Justice-Clerk 
O 2 



An aged Judge I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

* With deep-struck, reverential awe, 
The learned Sire and Son I saw, 

To Nature's God and Nature's Law, 
They gave their lore, 

This, all its source and end to draw, 
That to adore. 

Brydoris brave Ward f I well could spy. 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who calPd on Fame, low standing bv. 

To hand him on, 
Where many a Patriot-name on high 

And Hero shone* 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly-seeming Fair $ 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder Sister's air 

She did me greet, 

c All hail ! my own inspired Bard I 

* In me thy native Muse regard ! 

s Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

* Thus poorly low-i 
c I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow* 

* Catrin^j the seat of the late Doctor and present Pro*- 
fessor Stewart. 

f Colonel Fu Hapten: 



77 

€ Know, tlie great Genius of this Land 

* Has many a light, aerial band, 

* Who, all beneath his high command, 

* Harmoniously, 

4 As Arts or Arms they understand, 
4 Their labours ply. 

4 They Scotia's Race among them share ; 

* Some lire the Soldier on to dare ; 

4 Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

4 Corruption's heart : 

* Some teach the Bard a darling care, ' 

4 The tuneful art* 

* 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
4 They ardent, kindling spirits pour ;. 

4 Or 'mid the venal Senate's roar, 

4 They, sightless, stand, 
4 To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

* And grace the hand^ 

4 And when the Bard or hoary Sage, 
1 Charm or instruct the future age, 
4 They bind the wild Poetic rage, 

4 In energy, 
4 Or point the inconclusive page 

4 Full on the eye. 

4 Hence Fullarton> the brave and young ; 
4 Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 

* Hence sweet harmonious Seattle sung 

4 His 4 Minstrel lays * v 

* Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

4 The Sceplich b 
*Q 3 



78 
( To lower orders are assigned 
c The humbler ranks of Human-kind, 
i The rustic Bard, the labouring Hind, 

* The Artisan ; 

' AH choose, as various they're inclin'd, 

* The various man. 

c When yellow waves the heavy grain, 

* The threatening storm some strongly rein j 
c Some teach to meliorate the plain 

c With tillage-skill ; 
5 And some instruct the Shepherd-train, 
< Blythe o'er the hill. 

* Some hint the Lover's harmless wile ; 
i Some grace the maiden's artless smile j 

4 Some soothe the Labourer's weary toil, 

* For humble gains, 
c And make his cottage scenes beguile 

* His cares and pains. 

' Some, bounded to a district-space, 
c Explore at large Man's infant race, 
' To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic Bard ; 
' And careful note each opening grace, 

4 A guide and guard. 

' Of these am I — Coila my name ; 

c And this district as mine I claim, 

( Where once the Campbells, chiefs of f^rne, 

4 Held ruling power ; 
c I mark'd thy embryo-tuneful flame, 

* Thy natal hour. 



79 

' With future hope, I oft would gaze, 
c Fond on thy little early ways, 
1 Thy rudely caroll'd chiming phrase, 
1 In uncouth rhymes, 

* Fir'd at the simple, artless lays 

4 Of other times. 

* I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
4 Delighted with the dashing roar ; 

1 Or when the North his fleecy store 

* Drove thro' the sky, 

* I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

* Struck thy young eye. 

4 Or when the deep green-mantl'd Earth 

* Warm cherishM every flowret's birth, 
1 And joy and music pouring forth 

* In every grove, 

* I saw thee eye the general mirth 

* With boundless love. 

1 When ripened fields, and azure skies, 

* CalPd forth the Reader's rustling noise, 

* I saw thee leave their evening joys, 

6 And lonely stalk, 
»* To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 
i In pensive walk. 

f When youthful Love, warm-blushing strong, 
' Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
1 Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 
1 Th* adored AW/.-, 

* I taught thee how to pour in song, 

4 To eoothe thv Han • 



80 

* I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 

* Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 

* Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray, 

* By Passion driven ; 
c But yet the light that led astray 

1 Was light from Heaven, 

4 I taught thy manners-painting strains, 
4 The loves, the ways of simple swains, 

* Till now o'er all my wide domains 

* Thy fame extends ; 

* And some the pride of Coila's plains, 

* Become thy friends, 

* Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 

* To paint with Thomson's landscape glow $ 

* Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 

* With Shenstone^s art, 

* Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

4 Warm on the heart. 

* Yet all beneath th* unrivall'd Rose, 

* The lowly Daisy sweetly blows ; 

* Tho' large the forest's Monarch throws., 

* His army shade, 

* Yet green the juicy Hawthorn grows, 

4 Adown the glade. 

* Then never murmur nor repine : 

4 Strive in the humble sphere to shine ; 

* And trust me } not Potosi's mine, 

* Nor King's regard, 

* Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine t 

* A rustic Bard) 



81 

1 To give my counsels all in one, 

* Thy tuneful flame still careful fan : 
4 Preserve the dignity of Man y 

1 With soul erect ! 

* And trust, the Universal Plan 

< Will all protect. 

t Ani wear thou tkisf — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 

OR, THE 

RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 



My sen, these Maxims make a rule, 

And lump them ay thegither ; 
The Rigid Righteous : .s a fool, 

The Rigid Wise aiiither ; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was (light 

May hae some piles o' caff in ; 
So ne'er a fellow creature slight 

For random fits o' daftin. 

sololmon. — Ecck'S. vii. IG. 



U ye wha are sae guid yoursel, 
Sr,e pious and sae holv, 



82 

Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 
Your Neebour's fauts and folly ! 

Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 
SupplyM wi store o' water, 

The heapet happer's ebbing still, 
And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable Core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, 

For glaiket Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistake*, 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi* their's compar'd, 

And shudder at the niffer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a* the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies row and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse. 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i* your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way : 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

( It maks an unco lee-way. 



83 

See Social Lite and Glee sit down, 

All joyous and unthinking, 
Till quite transmugrify'd they're grown 

Debauchery and Drinking : 
O would they stay to calculate 

The eternal consequences ; 
Or your more dreaded h-11 to state. 

Damnation of expences ! 

Ye high exalted, virtuous Dames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination, 

But, let me whisper i* your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

^Then gently scan your brother Man* 

Still gentler sister Woman ; 
Tho they may gang a-kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human ; 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving Why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

Kow far perhaps they rue it* 

Wha made the heart 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us, 
He knows each chord its various tone, 

Each spring its various bias ; 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



SJ. 



TAM SAMSON's ELEGY *. 



An honest man's the noblest work of Gcd. 

Po?E, 



Has auld K ■ seen the Deil ? 

Or great M f thrawn his heel i 

Or R ^ again grown weel, 

To preach an' read : 
* Na, waur than a !' cries ilka chiel, 

' Tarn Samson's dead/ 

K lang may grunt an* grane, 

An* sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 
( An* deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean. 

In mourning weed ; 
To death she's dearly paid the kane, 
Tarn Samson's dead. 

The brethren o* the mystic level, 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel, 

* When this worthy old Sportsman went out last muir- 
fowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, 
' the last of his fields ;' and expressed an ardent wish to 
die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the Au- 
thor composed his Elegy and Epitaph. 

f A certain Preacher, a great favourite with the Mil- 
lion. Vide the ORDINATION, p. 45. 

t Another Preacher, an equal favourite v/ith the Few, 
who was at that time ailing. For him, see also ORDI- 
NATION, stanza 9. 



While by their ripae the tears wiH r ■ .. 

Like ony bead ; 
Deaths gien the Lodge an unco devcl* 

Tarn Sanson's dead ! 

When winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the Curlers flock, 

Wi' gle esome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a' the Core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar, 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score, 

Tarn Samson's dead. 

Now safe the stately Saumont sail, 
And Trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And Eels, weel kend for souple tail, 

And Geds for greed, 
Since dark in death's fish-creel we wail, 

Tarn Samson dead ! 

Rejoice ye birring Paitricks a* : 

Ye cootie Moorcocks, crously craw ; 

Ye Maukins, cock your hid fix* braw, 

Withoutten dread ; 
n mortal fae is now awa' ; 

Tarn Samson's dead r 






86 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd • 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatienr burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er return'd ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body batters, 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters ; 

In vain the burns came down like waters, 

An acre braid ! 
Now every auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Owre monie a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi 1 tout o' trumpet, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel aim'd heed ; 
Lord, five,' he cried, an' owre did stagger 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ! 
Ilk Sportsman-youth bemoan' d a father ; 
Yon auld gray stane amang the hether, 

Marks out his head, 
Whar Bums has wrote in rhymin blether, 
Tarn Samson's dead / 



57 
There, low he lies, in lasting res; ; 
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast, 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest. 

To hatch and breed \ 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When August winds the hether wave, 
And Sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three voilies let his memory crave, 

O* pouther and lead. 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Heaven rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is th/ wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa fauts, or maybe three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social,, honest man want we : 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



THE EPITAPH. 
Tam Samson's weel-vvorn ciay here lies* 

Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, an* canter like a filly, 

Thro 1 a' the streets and neuks o' Kill'u- *, 

' Kilhe is a phrase the country-folks sometimes use fo 
the name of a certain town in the west. 
} r 2 



Tell every social, honest billie, 

To cease his grievin, 

For yet, unscaith'd by Death's gleg gullie, 
Tain Samson's livin i 



The following POEM will, by many readers, be wet! 
enough understood ; but, for the sake of those who are 
unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the coun- 
try where the scene is cast, Notes are added, to give 
some account of the principal Charms and Spells of that 
night, so big with Prophecy to the Peasantry in the West 
of Scotland. The p; ssion of prying into futurity, makes a 
striking part of the history of Human Nature, in its rude 
state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some enter- 
tainment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour 
the Author with a perusal, to see the remains of k as 
the more unenlightened in our own. 

HALLOWEEN *. 



Yes! let the Rich deride, the Proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

GOLDSMITH. 



Upon that night when Fairies light 

On Cass'dis Do-wnans f dance, 

* Is thought to be a night when Witches, Devils, And 
other mischief-making beings, are all abroad on their 
baneful, midnight errands ; particularly those aerial peo- 
ple, the Fairies, are said, on that night, to hold a grand 
Anniversary. 

f Certain little, romantic, rocky green hills, in the 
neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassili*. 



89 

Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Cohan the rout is taen, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There up the Cove *, to stray an' rove, 

Amang the rocks and streams 

To sport that night. 

Amang the bonie, winding banks, 

Whare Doon rins, wimplin, clear, 
Whare Bruce | ance rui'd the martial rank*. 

And shook his Carrich spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To turn their nits and pou their stocks, 

An' haud their Halo ween, 

Fu' blythe that night. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an* warm, an* kin' ; 
The lads sae trig, wi* wcoer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses hearts' gang startin, 

Whyles fast that night. 
H 3 

* A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove 
of Colean ; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is fa- 
med in country story, for being a favourite haunt of 
fairies. 

f The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Rc- 
hert, the great 'Deliverer of his country, were Earls of 
Car rick. 



90 

Then, first an 7 foremost, thro' the kail, ' 

Their stocks * maun a' be sought ance ; 
They steek their een, an' graip an* wale, 

For muckle anes, an' straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift, 

An' wandered thro' the Bow-hail, 
An' pou't, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane, 

They roar an* cry a' throu'ther ; 
i?he vera wee-things, tod'iin, rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An* gif the custoci's sweet or sour, 

Wi* joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne, coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 

* The first ceremony of Halloween, is pulling' each a 
stock, or plant of kail. They must go out, hand in hand, 
with eyes shut, and pull the first they meet with ; its be- 
ing big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic of the 
size and shape of the grand object of all their Spells,- — 
the husband or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the 
root, that is tocher or fortune ; and the taste of the custock, 
that is, the heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural 
temper- and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, to give 
them, their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed 
somewhere above the head of the door : and the Christian 
names x)f the people whom chance brings into the house, 
are, according to the priority of placing the runt*, t&a 
name* in question. 



91 

The lasses staw, frae 'mang them a% 

To pou their stalks o' corn * ; 
But llab slips out, an' jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn ; 
He grippir Nelly hard an' fast : 

Loud skirl 'd a' the lasses ; 
But her taft-f tickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin i' the Fause-house *, 
WV him that night. 

The auld Guidwife's weel hoordet nils \ 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads an' lasses fates 

Are there that night decided ; 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa \vi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

* They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three Se- 
veral times, a stack of oats. If the third stalk wants the 
top-pickle, that 13, the grain at the top of the stalk, the 
party in question will come to the marriage-bed any thing 
but a maid. 

f When the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too 
green or wet, the stack-builder, by means of old timber, 
&c. makes a large apartment in his stack, with an opening- 
in the side which is fairest exposed to the wind ; this he calls- 
a Fause-house. 

\ Burning the nuts is a favourite charm. They name 
the lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in 
the fire ; and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or 
start from beside one another, the course and issue of the 

•rtship will he. 



92 

Jean slips in twa, wi* tentie ee ; 

Wha 'twas she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, an* this is me 9 

She says in to hersel : 
He bleez'd owre her, and she owre him, 

As they wad never mair part, 
Till fuff ! he started up the lum, 

An* Jean had e'en a sair heart, 

To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt. 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An' Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie ; 
Mall's nit lap out, wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, an' swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To' be that night. 

Nell had the Fause-house in her min% 

She pits hersel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin : 
NelPs heart was dancin at the view ; 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stovvlins, prie'd her bonny mou, 

Fu* cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 

She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 
An' slips out by hersel : 



33 

She thro' the yard the nearest taks, 

An' to the kiln she goes then, 
An darklins graipit for the bauks, 

An' in the blue-clue * throws then, 

Right fear't that night, 

An* ay she win't, an* ay she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L — d ! but she was quakin ! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en% 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She didna wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

Wee Jenny to her Graunie says, 

4 Will ye go wi' me, Graunie ? 
* I'll eat the apple \ at the glqss, 

c I gat fra? uncle Johnie :* 
She fuff't her pipe w? sic a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 

* Whoever would, with success, try this spell, mast 
strictly observe these directions : Steal out, all alone, to 
the kiln, and, darkling, throw into the pat a clue of blue 
yarn ; wind it in a new clue off the old one ; and, towards 
the latter end, something will hold the thread ; demand, 
Whahauds ? i.e. Who holds ; and answer will be returned 
from the kiln-pot, by naming the christian and sirname of 
your future spouse. 

f Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an 
smple before it, and some traditions say you should comb 
your hair all the time ; the face of your conjugal compa- 
nion, to be, will be seen in the glass, as if peeping ove? 
your shoulder. 



& 

She notic ? t na an aizle brant 
Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro 1 that night. 

6 Ye little Skelpie-limmer's face ! 

i I daur you try sic sportin, 
€ As seek the foul Thief ony place, 

1 For him to spae your fortune : 

* Nae doubt but ye may get a -sight ! 

i Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 

* For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

* An' liv 1 d an' di'd deleeret, 

' On sic a night. 

c Ae Hairst afore the Sherra-muir, 

c I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
c I was a gilpey then, I'm sure 

c I was nae past fyfteen : 

* The Simmer had been cauld an 1 wat, 

c An' stuff was unco green ; 

* An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

1 An' just on Halloween 

< It fell that night. 

* Our Stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

* A clever sturdy fallow ; 

* His Sin gat Eppie Sim wi* wean, 

* That liv'd in Achmacalla ; 

* He gat hemfi-seed *, I mind it weel, 

* An' he made unco light o't ; 

* Steal out imperceived, and sow a handful of hemp- 
seed, harrowing it with any thing you can conveniently 
tiraw after you. Repeat now and then, " Hemp-seed, I 
saw thee ; hemp-seed I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is 



95 

But monie a day was ly him set, 
'He was sae sairly frighted 

4 That vera night- 1 

Then up gat feehtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck : 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman taught down the pock, 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk, 

Some time*when nae ane see'd him. 
An' try't that night. 

He marches thro! amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin : 
The gratp he for a harrow taks, 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
And every now and then, he says, 

' Hemp-seed I saw thee, 
• An 1 her that is to be my lass, 

* Come after me an' draw thee 

* As fast this night.' >- 

He whistl'd up Lord Lenox' march, 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Altho' his hair began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie : 

to be my true love, come after me and pou thee." Look 
over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance 
of the person invoked, in the attitude of pulling hemp. 
Some traditions say, " Come after me and shaw thee," that 
is, show thyself ; in which case it simply appears. Others 
omit the harrowing, and say, c< Come after me and harrow 



96 

Till presently he hears a squeak, 

An 1 then a grane and gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

He roar 1 d a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An 1 young an' auld came rinnin out, 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a' ; 

An 1 wha was it but Grtimfikie 

A steer that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the Barn gaen, 
To winn three <w edits o' naethtng *; 

But for to meet the Deil her lane, 
She pat but little faith in : 

She gies the herd a pickle nits, 
And twa red cheekit apples, 

To watch, while for the Barn she sets, 

* This charm must likewise be performed tmpeiceived 
and alone. You go to the barn, and open both doors, ta- 
king them off the hinges, if possible ; for there is dan- 
ger that the being, about to appear, may shut the doors, 
and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument 
used in winnowing the corn, which, in our country dialect, 
we call a wecht, and go through all the attitudes of letting 
down corn against the wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
the third time, an apparition will pass through the barn, 
in at the windy door, and out at the other, having both the 
figure in question, and the appearance or retinue marking 
the employment or station in life. 



97 

In hopes to sec Tarn Kipplcs 

That vera night. 

She turns the key, wi' canine thraw, 

An owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Savvnic gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ration rattl'd up the vva', 

An' she cried, L — d preserve her ; 
Air ran thro' midden hole an* a', 

And pray'd wi' zeal an' fervour 

Fu' fast that night. 

They hoy't out Will, wi* fair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chancM the Stack hefaddom't thrice *, 

Was timmer propt for thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome Carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin 

AfPs nieves that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As cantie as a kittlin ; 
But, och ! that night amang the shaws, 

She gat a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 

* Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a"Beerr 
stack, and fathom it three times round. The list fathom 
of the last time, you will catch in your arms, the appear 
ance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 
I 



98 

Whare three Lairds'' lands met at a burn *, 
To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night, 

Whylcs owrc a linn the burnie plays, 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a-wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

Between her an' the moon, 
The Deil, or else an outler Quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 

Near lav'rock height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an? in the Pool, 

Out-owre the lugs she plumpit. 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The Luggies three \ are ranged ; 

* You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to 
a south-running spring or rivulet, where * three Lairds* 
lands meet, 1 and dip your left shirt sleeve. Go to bed in 
sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. 
L«ie awake ; and some time near midnight, an apparition, 
having the exact figure of the grand object in question, 
will come and turn the sleeve, as if to dry the other side 
of it. 

f Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul wa- 
ter in another, and leave the third empty. Blindfold a 



99 

An'ev'ry time great care is ta^en 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Mar^s year did desire, 
Because he gat the toom dish thrice, 

He heav'd them on the fire, 

In wrath that night, 

o 

Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they didna weary ; 
And unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap and cheery : 
Till butter 1 d Scrns f , wi' fragant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted afF careerin', 

Fii' blythe that night. 

person, and lead him to the hearth where the dishes are 
ranged ; he (or she) dips the left hand : If by chance in 
the clean water, the future husband or wife will come to 
the bar of Matrimony a maid ; if in the foul, a widow ; 
if in the empty dish, it foretells, with equal certainty, no 
marriage at all. ' It is repeated three times ; and every 
time the arrangement of the dishes is altered. 

f Sowens with butter instead of milk to them, is always 
the Halloween Supper. 



12 



100 

THE AULD FARMER'S 
NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION 

TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

On giving her the accustomed Riftfi of Corn to Han* 
scl in the Nezv Tevr. 

J& Gum New Tear I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there's a ripfi to thy auld baggie ; 
Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggie, 

I've seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie, 

Out-owre the lay. 



Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An 5 thy auld hide as white's a daisie, 
Pve seen thee dappl't, sleek an' glaizie, 

A bonie gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
AJiIIt/ buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank 

As e'er tread yird ; 
An' could hae flown outowre a stank 

Like onie bird. 

Its now some nine-an'-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my Guid-father's Mare ; 






101 

- He gied me thee o^ tocher clear*, 

An' fifty mark $ 
Tho* it was sma% 'twas weel-won gear, 
An' thou was stark, 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie : 
Tho' ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
Buthamely, tawie, quite, an* canive, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi 1 muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame rhy bonie Bride : 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ; 
Kgle*Ste>zuart I could bragged wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hoble, 
An' wintle like a saumont coble, 
That day ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ; 
An' ran them till they a 1 did wauble, 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skiegh, 

An' stablewneals at Fairs were driegh, 

How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skriegh, 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an' stood abiegh^ 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, 

I 3 



102 

We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At Brooses thou had neVr a fallow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma' droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, 
M'-ght aiblins waur't thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their, mettle, 

An* gar't them whaizle ; 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazzle, 

Thou was a noble Fittie-lan\ 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han% 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an fetch't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy weel rlll'd brisket, 

Wi* pith an' power, 
Till spretty knowes wad rair't an risket, 

An' slippit owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, 
An' threatened labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I kend my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer, 



103 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 

The steyest brae thou wad hae fac't it : 

Thou never lap, an' stent, an' breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ? 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't awa, 

My fileugh is now thy bairntime a* ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst ; 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa, 

The very warst. 

Monie a sair daurg we twa hae wrought* 
An* wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An* monie an anxious day I thought 

We wad been beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

An' think na', my auld trusty servan% 
That now, perhaps, thou's less deservin. 
An' thy auld days may end in starvin, 

For my last fou, 
A heapit Siim/iart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather, 

Wi 1 stria* fatigue. 



10* 
THE 

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT, 

Inscribed to R. A • Esq. 



Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur here, with a disdainful smile, 

The short but simple annals of the poor. 

GRAY. 



J\J y lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise j 
To you I sing in simple Scotisk lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways, 

What A ■ in a cottage would have been ; 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, 

I ween ! 

November chill blaws loud w? angry sugh ; 

The shortening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The blackening trains o' craws to their repose: 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 



105 - 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the muir, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 

At length his lonely Cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, todlin, stacher through 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee. 
His wee-bit ingle blinkin bonilie, 

His clean -hearthstane, his thrifty Wife's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on her knee, 

Doe3 a' his weary carking c?res beguile, 
And makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. 

1 Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in, 

At service out amang the -farmers roun' ; 
I Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
| Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, Love sparklin in her ee, 
1 Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee 
To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

; Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet, 
And each for other's weelfare kindly speirs ; 
The social hours, swift -wingM, unnotic'd fleet ; 
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
I The Parents, partial, ee their hopefu' years ; 
Anticipation forward points the view : 
The Mother, wi' her needle and her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The Father mixes a' wi* admonition due. 



106 

Their Masters and their Mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
And mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

And ne'er, tho' out o* sight, to jauk or play ; 
c And O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

' And mind your duty duly morn and night ! 
< Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

' Implore his counsel and assisting might, 
4 They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
< aright.' 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door, I 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 

To do some errands and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's ee and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak, 
Weel-pleas'd the Mother hears, its nae wild-worth- 
less rake. 

With kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth, he taks the Mother's ee; 
Elythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen ; 

The Father cracks o' horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The Youngster's artless heart o'erflows with joy, 

But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The Mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave; 

Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn's respectit like the 

lave* 



107 

O happy love ! where love like this is found ! 

O heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round. 

And sage Experience bids me this declare— 
i If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

c One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
« 'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

* In other's arms, breathe out the tender tale, 
\i Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the 
* evening gale.' 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart — 
A Wretch ! a Villain ! lost to love and truth I 

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

! Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 

(Curse on his perjur'd arts) dissembling smooth ! 
Are Honour, Virtue, Conscience, all exil'd ? 

,Is there no Pity, no relenting Ruth, 

Points to the Parents, fondling o'er their child ? 

.Then paints the ruin'd Maid, and their distraction 

! wild ! 

But now the Supper crowns the simple board, 

The healsome Parritch, chief o' Scotia 1 s food. 
The soupe their only Hawkie does afford, 
,: That yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 
The Dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the Lad, her weel-hainM kebbuck,fel!, 
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; 
\ The frugal Wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
'How 'twas a towmond auld ? sin' lint was i y the 
| bell 



108 

The cheerfu* Supper done, wi* serious face, 

They round the ingle form a circle wide ; 
The Sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big ha '-bible ■> ance his father's pride : 
His bonnet reverently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare, 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care, 
' And let us worship God /' he says with solemn 



They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dirndls wild-warbling measures rise ; 

Or plaintive Martyrs^ worthy of the name, 
Or noble Elgin beats the heavenward flame : 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays ; 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame : 

The tickl'd ears no heartfelt raptures raise, 
Nae unison hae they with our Creators praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the Friend of God on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage, 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Qr how the royal Bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; 
Or other Holy seers thai time the sacred lyre. 

Ptr aps the Christian Volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 



109 

How He, who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Babylon's doom pronounc'd by 
Heaven's command. 
\ 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal 
King, 
The Saint % the Father , and the Husband, prays: 
Hope 4 springs exulting on triumphant wing *,' 
That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 
i There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their" Cratfar's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 
1 While circling time moves round in an eternal 
sphere. 

Compar'd with this how poor Religion's pride, 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 
Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 
t The Power, incens'd, the Pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some Cottage far apart, 
J May hear, well pieas'd, the language of the 
Soul ; 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enrol, 

* Pope's Windsor Forest. 

K 



110 

Then homeward all take ofF their several way ; 

The youngling Cottagers retire to rest ; 
The Parent-pair their secret homage pay^ 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,- 
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way His Wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their little ones provide ; 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine pre- 
side. 

From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur 
springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad : 
Princes and Lords are but the breath of Kings, 

1 An honest man's the noblest work of God :' 
And certesy in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 

The Cottage leaves the Palace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load. 

Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd 1 

O Scotia 1 my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent 1 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet 
content ! 
And, O ! may Heaven, their simple lives prevent 

From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd 
Isle. 






Ill 

O Thou t who* pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted heart; 
Who dar'd to, nobly, stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The Patriot's God peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 
O never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the Patriot and the Patriot-Bard, 
In bright succession raise, her Ornament and 
Guard ! 



TO A MOUSE, 

On turning v[i her Nest with the Plough, Nov* 1785. 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, timorous beastie ! 

what a panic's in thy breastie, 
Thou need na start awa sae hastie, 

Wi' bickering brattle ! 

1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murdering pattle I 

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion, 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, 

An" 1 fellow mortal. 

K2 



112 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimevAchr in a thrave, 

's a sma' request ; 
1*11 get a blessin wi' the lave, 

An' never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa 1 s the win's are strevvin ! 
And naething, now, to big a new ane 
O' £°ggzg e green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith snell an' keen. 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
And weary Winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell^ 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hauld, 
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble, 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men 

Gang aft a-gley. 
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, 

For promis'd joy i 



113 

Still thou art blest compar d wi 1 me ! 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, though I canna see, 

I guess an' fear / 



A WINTER NIGHT. 



Poor naked wretches wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and window'd raggeduess, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? 



SHAKESPEARE. 



When biting Bcreas y fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bower ; 
When PJmbus gies a short-hVd glowr, 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-darkening thro' the flaky shower, 

Or whirling drift. 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns wi' snawy wreeths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thrcv the mining outlet bokcd, 

Down headlong hurl. 
K 9 



114 

Listening, the doors an' vvinnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war, 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle 5 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing ! 
That, in the merry months o' springs 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee ?' 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murdering errands toil'd, 

Lone from your savage homes exil'd, 

The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoiPd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phcehe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark-muffi'd, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow solemn, stole — - 

* Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust J 
€ And freeze, thou bitter-biting Frost ! 

* Descend, ye chilly, smothering Snows ! 

* Not 'all your rage, as now,, united shews 

' More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
* Vengeful malice unrepenting, 



115 

Than heaven-illumin'd Man on brother Man be- 

■ stoys ! 
See stern Oppression's iron grip, 

6 Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the shp, 

* Woe, want, an' murder o'er a land ! 

* Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 

< Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper' d Luxury, Flattery by her side, 
1 The parasite empoisoning her ear, 

* With all the servile wretches in the rear, 
Looks o'er proud Property, extended wide ; 

* And eyes the simple rustic Hind, 

1 Whose toil upholds the glittering show, 
4 A creature of another kind, 
1 Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, be- 

< low ! 
4 Where, where, is Love's fond, tender ihroe, 
' With lordly Honour's lofty brow, 

1 The powers you proudly own ? 
i Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
i Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

' To bless himself alone ! 
i Mark Maiden-innocence a prey 

* To love pretending snares, 

* This boasted Honour turns away, 
4 Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 

Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers ! 
4 Perhaps this hour, in Misery's squalid nest, 
4 She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 

And with a Mother's fears, shrinks at the rock- 
ing blast : 



116 

* O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 

4 Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
4 Think for a moment on his wretched fate, 
* Whom friends and fortune quite disown 1 

* 111 sacisfy'd. keen Nature's clamorous call, 

1 Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep, 

* While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

4 Chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty 

* heap ! 
4 Think on the dungeon's grim confine 
4 Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine • 
4 Guilt, erring Man, relenting view ! 
4 But shall thy legal rage pursue 
4 The wretch, already crushed low 
4 By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 

4 Affliction's sons are brothers in distress ! 

4 A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !' 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer, 

Shook off the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 



But deep this truth impressed ray mind — 

Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind, 

The most resembles God. 






in 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

January 

VV hile winds frae afF Ben-Lomcnd blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down, to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folk's gift. 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomv fire-side : 
But hanker, and canker, 
To see their cursed pride, 

: It's hardly in a body's power, 
To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
1 While Coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 

As lang's we're hale and fier : 



118 

< Mair spier na, nor fear na' *, 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 

The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest ; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick the ba% 
Has ay some cause to smile, 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What tho\ like Commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hall ! 
YeL Nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
, The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when Daisies deck the ground, 

And Blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year : 

On braes when we please, then, 
We'll sit and south a tune ; 
* Ramsay. 



119 

Syne rhyme tilPt we'll time tilPt, 
And sing't when we bae done, 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on Bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin muckle mair ; 
It's no in books ; its no in lear, 

To make us truly blest : 
If Happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart ay's the part ay, 

That makes us right or wrang* 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ; 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, * 
They riot in excess 1 

Baith careless, and fearless, 
Of either heaven or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a ? an idle tale ! 



120 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 
Nor make our scanty Pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should Misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi* some, 

An's thankful' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of Age to Youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, Ace of Hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flattery I detest), 
This life has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the Pleasures 0' the Heart, 

The Lover an' the Frien' ; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean I 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention but her name : 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

O, all ye Powers, who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self arc love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 1 



tl21 
r my more dear immortal part, 
Is not more fondly dear ! 
r hen heart -corroding care and grief 
Deprive my soul of rest, 
Jier dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O hear my fervent prayer ; 
Still take her, and make her, 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

AH hail ye tender feelings dear i 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still- 
It lightens, it brightens, 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean* 

O, how that name inspires my style: 
The words come skelpin, rank and file 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as line, 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het ; 
L 



122 

And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. 
And rin an unco fit : 

But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
Pll light now, and diglit now 
His sweaty, wizen'd hide. 



THE LAMENT, 

Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend's Amour. 



Alas ! how oft does goodness wound itself ! 
And sweet Affection, prove the spring of Woe ! 

HOME. 



thou pale orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep ! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath thy wan, unw T arming beam ; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly- marked, distant hill : 
I joyless view thy trembling horn. 
Reflected in the gurgling" rill : 



123 

My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy power, Remembrance, cease \ 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning Peace ! 

No ldly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Powers above ; 
The firomis'd Father's tender name ; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

[low have the raptur'd moments flown : 
How have I wished for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ; 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My sacred heart's exulti.ig boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

O ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to Honour, lost to Truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! Life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress ! 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less i 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 
Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
L 2 



124 

Your dear remembrance in my breast, 
My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 

That breast, how dreary now, and void, 
For her too scanty once of room ! 

Ev'n every ray of hope destroy'd, 
And not a Wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow* 
Full many a pang and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phcebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber, F tncy, chief, 

Reigns haggard- wild, in sore affright : 
Even day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O ! thou bright Queen, who o'er the expanse, 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway ! 
Oft has thy silent-rnarking glance 

Observed us, fondly-wandering, stray ; 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 



125 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set i 

Scenes, never, never, to return ; 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
From every joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' , 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mouru 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY, an ode. 

Oppress 'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more that I can bear, 

1 set me down and sigh : 
O Life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim-backward as I cast my view, 
What sickening Scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro-, 
Too justly 1 may fear 1 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 

My woes here, shall close ne'er, 

But with the closing tomb. 

Happy, ye sons of busy-life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ; 
Even when the wished end's deny'd, 
L 3 



126 

Yet while the busy means are ply'd. 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet every sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same. 

You bustling, and justling, 
Forget each grief and pain ; 
I listless, yet restless, 

Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the Solitary's lot, 
"Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots* 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Besicle his crystal well ; 
Or haply, to his eveiii'ig thought, 

By unfr. quented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A 'an.t-collected dream : 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heaven on high? 
As wandering, meandering, 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trae'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, * 
Av.djust to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art; 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joys, 

Which I too keenlv taste, 



127 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest \ 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate. 

Ah f enviable, early day?, 

When dancing thoughtless pleasured maze. 

To care, to guilt unknown ; 
How ill exchanged for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ; 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When manhood is your wish ; 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ; 
The fears all, the<ears all, 
Of dim -declining age ! 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, 



A DIRGE. 



When chill November's surly blast* 
Made fields and forests bare. 



128 

One evening, as I wander'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? 

(Began the reverend Sage ;) 
Dost thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of Man, 

The Sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter-sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And every time has added proofs, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

O Man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate Follies take the sway ; 

Licentious Passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law^ 

That Man was made to mourn. 






129 

Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Mar. that is useful to his kind, 

Sufifiorted is his right : 
But see him on th^ edge of life, 

With Cares and Sorrows worn, 
Then Age and Want, oh ! ill-match'd pair? 

Shew Man was made to mourn. 

A few seem favourites of Fate, 

In Pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet think not all the Rich and Great, 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh \ what crowds in every land, 

Are wretched and forlorn, 
Thro* weary life this lesson learn, 

That Man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the numerous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ; 
! More pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, Remorse, and Shame J 
And Man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to Man 

Makes countless thousands mourn I 

See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
i Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow worm 

The poor petition spurn, 



130 

Unmindful tho' a weeping wife 
And helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave, 

By Nature's law design'd, 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has Man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

Yet let not this too much, my Son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human-kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

O death • the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But Oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



131 



WINTER, A DIRGE. 

1 he Wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw ; 
Or, the stormy North sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

* The sweeping blast, the sky overcast *V 

The joyless Winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 
The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees, my fancy please ; 

Their fate resembles mine. 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ; 
Then all I want, (On, do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign ! 

* Dr Young, 



132 



A PRAYER, 



IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 



O thou unknown, Almighty Cause, 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps I must appear • 

If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As Something, loudly, in my heart, 

Remonstrates I have done ; 

Thou knows't that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And listening to their witching voice, 
Has often led me wrong : 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Ox frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art 9 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But Thou art good ; and goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 



133 



STAZAS, on the same occasion. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between ; 

Some gleams of sunshine mid renewing storms : 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary dark abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms : 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, c Forgive my foul offence !' 

Fain promise never more to disobey ! 
But should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair Virtue's way ; 
Again in Folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation 
ran ? 

O Thou, Great Governor of all below ! 

If t may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea ■ 
With that controlling power assist even me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 

To rule their torrent in th* allow r ed line ; 
O, aid me with Thy help, Omnihotaicc D'rc 
M 



134 

Lying at a Reverend Friend's Home one nighty the 
Author left the following Verses in the Room where 
he slept : 

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above, 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my prayer sincere. 

The hoary Sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, long be pleas'd to spare ; 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men are. 

She who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a Mother's joys, 

But spare a Mother's tears. 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth, 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a Parent's wish. 

The beauteous, seraph Sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'stthe snares on every hand. 

Guide Thou their steps alway. 



When soon or late they reach that coast. 

O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost* 

A family in Heaven I 






135 
THE FIRST PSALM, 

Ihe man, in life wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride, 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But, with humility and awe, 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? That God the good adore, 
Hath given them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES 

OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend, 
Of all the human race ! 
M 2 



136 

Whose strong right-hand has ever been 
Their stay and dwelling-place ! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads, 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this ponderous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Power which raisM, and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbegmning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years, 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before thy sight, 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, Man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again thou say'st, ' Ye sons of men, 

* Return ye unto nought.' 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak"st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flower, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night, cut down it lies 

All withered and decay'd. 



137 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

Oft turning one down with the Plough in April 180& 

AVee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure, 
Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonie gem, 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonie Larky companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' spreckPd breast, 
When upward-springing, blythe, to greet 

The purpling East. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet, cheerfully, thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the Parent-earth 
Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-feld, 

Unseen, alane. 
M 3 



138 

There, in thy scantie mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise : 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

An' low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweetjlovueret of the rural shade, 
By Love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent Lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er. 

Such fate to suffering Worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven, 
By human pride or cunning driven, 

To misery's brink, 
Till wrench'd of every stay but Heaven , 

He, ruin'd, sink 1 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin' s ploughshare drives, elate, 
Full on thy bloom, 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight. 






139 



TO RUIN. 

All hail, inexorable Lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word, 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome all. 
With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tye, 
And quivers in my heart. 

Then lowering, and pouring, 

The Storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' thickening, and blackening, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim Power, by Life abhorr'd, 
While Life a pleasure can afford, 

O, hear a wretch's prayer { 
No more I shrink, appall'd, afraid ; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care • 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day ? 
|My weary heart its throbbings cease, 
Cold mouldering in tht clay ; 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face, 
Enclasped, and grasped, 
Within thy cold embrace. 



140 
TO MISS L 

With Beattie's Poems for a New Year's Gift. 
January 1. 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time, 

Their annual round have driven, 
And you, tho' scarce iirmaiden prime, 

Are so much nearer Heaven. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts, 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless Love, 

Is charg'd perhaps too true ; 
But may, dear Maid, each Lover prove 

An Edwin still to you. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 

May 1786. 

J lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve nae other end, 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject theme may gang, 
1 Let time and chance determine ; 



141 

Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 
Perhaps, turn out a sermon. 

Ye'U try the world soon, my lad, 

And Andrew dear, believe me, 
Yell find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Even when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where every nerve is strained. 

I'll no say men are villains a* ; 

The real, harden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked : 
But och, mankind are unco weak, 

An* little to be trusted ; 
If Self the wavering balance shake 5 

It's rarely right adjusted. 

Yet they wha fa* in Fortune's strife, 

Their fate we would na censure, 
For still the important end o' life, 

They equally may answer : 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho 1 poortith hourly stare him : 
A man may take a neebor's part, 

Yet hae nae cash to spare him. 

Ay free, aff han* your story tell, 

When wi* a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yourseU 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 



1*2 

Conceal yourself as weel's ye can, 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' every other man, 

Wi' sharpened sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

•Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
I wave the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing ; 
But och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling. 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by every wile, 

That's justify'd by Honour ; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant ; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' Hell's a hangman's whip, 

To haud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your Honour grip, 

Let that ay be your border : 
It's slightest touches, instant pause ; 

Debar a' side-pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences* 

The great Creator to revere, 
Must sure become the creature : 



143 

But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with Wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist laugh's, a poor exchange 

For Deity offended. 

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi J Heaven, 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth \ 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting I 
May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, ' God send you speed,' 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may ye better reck the rede, 

Than ever did the Adviser. 



A PRAYER, 
Under the Pressure of violent Anguish. 

p£J Thou great Being ! what Thou art, 
Surpasses me to know ; 



144 

Yet sure I am, that known to Thee, 
Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 
All wretched and distrest ; 

Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 
Obey thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or- wrath ! 
O free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death. 

But if I must afflicted be, 
To suit some wise design ; 

Then man my soul with firm resolves 
To bear and not repine. 



ON A SCOTCH BARD 

Gone to the West Indies, 



A' ye wha live by sowps o y drink, 
A* ye wha live by crambo clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come, mourn wi* me • 
Our billies gien us a' a jink, 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him a* ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore ; 



145 

Jae mair he'll join the tneny roar, 
in social key ; 

For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea : 

The bonny lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, an' a* may bless him ? 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea ! 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen aft some drousy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble, 

That's owre the sea ! 

Auld, cantie Kyle, may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi 1 the saut, saut tear ; 
'Twill mak her poor, auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee : 
He was her Laurent mony a year, 

That's owre the sea ! 

He saw Misfortune's cauld Nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A Jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be ! 
go, took a birth afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea ! 



N 



146 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock. 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent st ;mach, 
Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock. 
An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding., 
Yet coin his pouches wad nae bide in ; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding ; 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
An' hap him in a cozie biel ; 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel r 

And fV o' glee I 
He wad nae wrang the vera Diel, 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme composing lillie ! 
Your native soil was right iH-willie ; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' owre the sea ? 



TO A HAGGIS. 



Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face ? < 
Great Chieftain o' the Puddin-race f 



. 



147 

Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm : 

Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 
% In time o* need, 

While thro' your pores the dews distil 
Like amber bead. 

His knife see Rustic labour dight, 
And cut you up wi s ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like ony ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch and strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 

Betkankit hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Q i' fricassee wad mak her spew 

Wi 1 perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ! 

N 2 



148 

Poor devil! see him owre his trash* 
As feckless as a witherM rash, 
His spindle-shank a guid whip lash, 

His nieve a nit ; 
Thro* bloody flood or field to dash, 

O how unfit \ 

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed \ 

The trembling earth resounds his tread, 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He^ll mak it whissle ° 9 
An 7 legs, an' arms, an' heads will sued, 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye Powers wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware, 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 

Gie her a Haggis / 



A DEDICATION TO G. H. Es<*. 



xLxpect, na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin, fletherin Dedication, 
To roose you up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye 're. sirnam'd like his Grace?. 
Perhaps related to the race j 




149 

Then when I'm tir'd, and sae are ye y 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the Great Folk for a wamefou ; 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, / can plough ; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae fiatterin, 
Its just sic Poet, an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some good Angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him ! 
He may do vveel, for a 1 he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 
The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me,) 
. On every hand, it will allow'd be, 
He's just — rrae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant, 

He downa sec a poor man want ; 

What's no his ain he winna tak it, 

What ance he says he winna break it ; 

Olight he can lend he'll no refus't, 

Till aft his goodness is abus'd ; 

And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 

Fven thaty he does not mind it lang : 

As Master, Husband, Landlord, .Father, 

He does not fail his part in either, 

N S 



150 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that "J 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our poor, sinfu', corrupt Nature : 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of Orth-d-xy. 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The Gentleman in word and deed, 
It's no thro' terror o* Dam-n-tion, 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain t 
Vain is his hope whose stay and trust is 
In moral Mercy, Truth, and Justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal thro' a winnock frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that taks the door ; 
Be to the poor like ony whunstane, 
And haud their noses to the grunstane : 
Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three mile prayers, an* half-mile graces, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang, wry faces j 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae Deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch Believer. 



151 

ye wlia leave the springs of C-lv-n, 
For gum He dubs of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of Heresy and Error, 

Ye'll some day squeel in waking terror I 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heaven commission gies him 
While o'er the Harp pale Misery moans, 
And strikes the ever-deepening tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, Sir, for this digression, 

1 maist forgat my Dedication ; 

But when Divinity comes across me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, you see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper, 
When a* my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to Tou : 
Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronize them wi' your favour, 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever pray , 

But that's a word I needna say : 

For prayin I hae little skill o't ; 

I'm baith. dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't ; 

But Fse repeat each poor man's prayer y 

That kens or hears about you, Sir ■ 



i 



152 

May ne'er Misfortunes gowling bark, 
Howl thro' the dwelling o* the Clerk ! 
May ne^er his generous, honest heart, 
For that same generous spirit smart ! 
May K— — 's far honoured name 
Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 
Till H— — — 's, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonie lasses round their table, 
And seven braw Fellows, stout and able, 
To serve their King and Country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May Health and Peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days : 
Till his wee, curlie John's ier-oe, 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last sad, mournful rites bestow.' 



} 



I will not wind a lang conclusion, 

Wi' complimentary effusion : 

But whilst your wishes and endeavours, 

Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 

I am, Dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 

Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Bowers above prevent,) 

That iron -hearted carl, Want, 

Attended in his grim advances, 

By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 

While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him, 

Make you as poor a dog as I am, 

Your humble servant then no more ; 

For who would humbly serve the poor ? 



153 

But by a poor man's hopes in Heaven ! 

While recollection's power is given, 

If, in the vale of humble life, 

The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 

I, thro' the tender gushing tear, 

Should recognise my Master dear, 

If friendless, low, we meet together, 

Then, Sir, your hand, — my Friend and Brother I 



TO A LOUSE, 

On seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church* 

Ha ! whare ye gaun ye crowlin ferlie ; 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear, ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a Lady ! 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your dinner, 

On some poor body. 

Swith, in some beggar's hnffit squattle ; 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattte 



154 

Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 

In shoals and nations ; 

Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 
Your thick plantations. 

Now haud you there, yeVe out o' sight, 
Below the iatterils, snug and tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till you've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, towering height 

O* Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out ? 
As plump and gray as ony grozet ; 

for some rank mercurial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze oH, 

Wad dress your droddum ! 

1 wad na been surprised to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy, 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wylie coat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardil fie, 

How daur ye do't ! 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abreed ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Thae winks and Jinger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin J 



155 

O wad some Power, the giftie gie us, 
To see ourselves as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion ! 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e lis, 

And even Devotion. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH, 

JlLdina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces aud towers, 
Where once beneath a Monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ; 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray 'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here Wealth still swells the golden tide. 

As busy Trade his labours plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ; 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the Stranger hail ; 



156 

Their views enlarg'd, their liberal mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest Merit's silent claim : 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy Daughters bright thy walks adorn, 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair B strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
J see the Sire of Love on high, 

And own his w r ork indeed divine ! 

There watching high the least alarms, 

Thy rough rude Fortress gleams afar ; 
Like some bold Veteran, gray in arms, 

And mark d with many a seamy scar : 
The ponderous wall and massy bar, 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 
Have oft withstood assailing War, 

And oft repelled the Invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears fl 
I vjew that noble, stately Dome, 

Where Scotia's kings of other years, 
Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 

Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ! 
Their royal Name low in the dust ! 

Their hapless Race wild-wandering roam ! 
.Tho' rigid Law cries out, 'twas just ! 



157 

Wild beats my heart, to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruinM gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody Lion bore : 
Even / who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, my Sires, have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, 

Bold following where your Fathers led ! 

JEd'wa ! Scotiah darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towers, 
Where once beneath a Monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 

As qxi the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



EPISTLE TO J. L K. 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1. 1785. 

W hile briers and woodbines budding green, 
An' Paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning Poussie whiddin seen, 
Inspire my Muse, 

O 



158 

This freedom, in an unknown frien% 
I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-een we had a rockin, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin 5 

And there was muckle fun. and jokin, 

Ye needna doubt, 
At length we had a heaKy yokin 

1^ t sang about. 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thirl'd the heart-strings thro' the breast, 

A* to the life. 

I've scarce heard ought described so weel, 
What generous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, c Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

' Or Beattie's wark V 
They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel, 

About Muirhirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spier't, 
Then a' that ken't him round declar'd, 

He had ingine. 
That nane excell'd it, few came near^t, 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint o' ale, 
An* either douce or nrerry tale* 



J 59 

Or rhymes an* sangs he'd made himsel, 
Or witty catches, 

'Tween Inverness and Tiviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith, 

Though I should pawn my pleugh and graith, 

Or die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke backj 
A pint and gill I'd gie them baith, 

To hear your crack. 

But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the cramborjlngle fell, 

Tho' rude and rough. 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am nae Poet in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your Critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, ' How can you e'er propose, 
* You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

* To mak a sang ?' 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang* 

O 2 



160 

What's a* your jargon o' your Schools, 
Your Latin names for horns and stools, 
If honest Nature made you fools. 

What sairs your Grammars ? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin hammers. 

A set o' dull conceited hashes, 
Confuse their brains in College classes ! 
They gang in Stirks, and come out Asses, 

Plain truth to speak. 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

Bv dint o' Greek* 



Gie me ae spark o' Nature's nre, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then tho' I drudge thro' dub and mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart. 

O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 

Or bright L £'s, my friend to be, 

If I can hit it ; 
That would be lear eneugh for me, 

If I could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tno' real friends, I believv, are few, 
Yet if your catalogue be fu% 

I'se no insist, 
But gif you want a friend that's true, 

Pm on your list. 



161 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 

As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 

But friends and folks that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me ; 
Tho* I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay to me, 

I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 

For monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At Dance or Fair ; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline Race, or Mauchllne Fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o 1 rhymin-ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

Tfie four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 

An* kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 

J>yne we'll sit down and tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
An* faith, we'se be acquainted better, 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish, warly race, 

Wha think that bavins, sense, an' grace, 

Even love and friendship, should give pla< ' 

To catch-thc-jilack ! 
I dinna like to sec your tiice, 

Nor hear your crack. 
O 3 



162 

But ye whom social pie sure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms, 
Who hold your being on, the terms, 

i Each aid the others/ 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
While I can either sing, or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 

April 21. 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor, 
To honest-hearted, auld L k, 

For his kind letter, 

Forjesket sair, with weary legs, 

Ilattlin the corn out-owre the rigs, 
Qv dealing thro' amang the naigs 

Their ten hours bite. 



163 

My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs, 
I wou'd na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, t Ye ken, we've been sae busy, 
* This month and mair, 

* That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 

' An' something sair. 1 

Her douff excuses pat me mad ; 

1 Conscience,' says I, ■ ye thowless jad ! 

4 I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

' This vera night ; 
4 So dinria ye affront your trade, 

6 But rhyme it right. 

f Shall bauld L k, the king o' hearts, 

■ Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes, 

* Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

4 In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts, 

■ An' thank him kindly H 

Sae T gat paper in a blink, 

An' down gaed stum/iie in the ink": 

Quoth I, ' Before I sleep a wink, 

' I vow I'll close it ; 

* An' if ye winna mak it clink, 

« By Jove I'll prose it !» 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegithcr, 



1G4. 

Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 
Let time mak proof ; 

But I shall scribble down some blether, 
Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' Fortune use you hard and sharp ; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp ; 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an' fleg, 

Sin I could straddle owre a rig : 

But, by the L — d, though I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow I 

Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer, 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the little kimmer, 

7, Rob, am here* 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 

Behind a kist to lie and sklent, 

Or purse proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame, 
In some bit Brugh to represent 

A Bailie's name ? 



165 

Or is't the paughty, feudal Thane, • 
Wi' ruffl'd sark and glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps an* bonnets aff are taen, 

As by he walks ? 

' O Thou wha gies us each guid gift ! 
' Gie me o* wit and sense a lift, 

* Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

* Thro' Scotland wide; 

* \W cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 

' In a' their pride 1* 

Were this the charter of our state, 

* On pain o y hell be rich an' great/ 
Damnation then would be our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But, thanks to Heaven, that's no the gate 
We learn our creed. 

For thus the Royal Mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 

* The social, friendly honest man, 

1 Whare'eu he be, 

* 'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan, 

1 An' none but he ! 

i O Mandate glorious and divine ! 
The followers o' the ragged Nine, 
Poor thoughtless devils \ yet may shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line, 

Are dark as night. 



166 

Tho' here they scrape, and squeeze, an' growl* 
Their worthless neivefu' of a soul 
May- in some future carcase howl, 

The forests fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may L h and B arise, 

To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an* joys, 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship^ ties 

Each passing year ! 



W. S N, OCHILTREE. 

May 1785. 

1 gat your letter, winsome Willie ^ 

Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 

Tho' I maun say't I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin billie, 

Your flatterin strain. 

But Fse believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelens sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho' in sic phrasin terms ye've penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 



167 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should T but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o y faii- 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chicl, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts, 
III suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 
Ye Enbrugh gentry ! 
The tythe o y what ye waste at cartes 

* Wad stow'd his pantry ! } 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 

As whyles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease I) 
I kittle up my rustic reed ; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 
She's gotten poets o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a ? resound again, 

Her weel-sung praise, 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd style ; 
She lay like some unkend-of Isle 

Beside New Holland, 
Or where wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 



168 ' 

Ramsay an' famous Fergus son 
Gied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon, 
Yarrow an' Tweedy to monie a tune 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Naebody sings. 

Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an* Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams and burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells, 
Her moors, red-brown wi' heather dells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' bells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies. 

At Wallace 9 name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Aft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace^ side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhites chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 



169 

JLven winter bleak has charms to me, 
When winds rave thro' the naked tree, 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray ; 
Or blinding-drifts wild furious flee, 

Darkening the day! 

O Nature! .2? thy shew an' forms 

To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms : 

Whether the Summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an 5 light, 
Or Winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel he leaned to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

And no think lang ; 
O sweet, to stray and pensive ponder 

A heartfelt sang 1 

The warly race may drudge an* drive, 
Hog-shouther, jundie, 6tretch, and strive 
Let me fair Nature^s face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing britber { 
We've been our lang unkenn'd to ither : 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal ! 
^lay Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend infernal 
P 



170 

While Highlandmrn hate tolls an* taxes, 
While moorlan herds like guid fat braxies ; 
While Terra Firma, on her axis. 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In Robert Burns. 

POSTSCRIPT, 

My memory's no worth a preen ; 

I hud amaist forgotten clean, 

Yt bade me write you what they mean 

By this ne<w-lighi *, 
*Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callans 

At Grammar, Logic, an sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain braid Lallans, 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the Moon, 
Just like a sark or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a newane. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne*er cam i' their heads to doubt it? 

* See Note, p, 41. 



171 ■ 

Till chiefs gat up an 1 wad confute it, 
And caM it wrai.g > 

An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang* 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo 1 the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thin^ misteuk ; 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

And out o' sight, 
An' backlins-coming, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright* 



This was deny'd, it was affirmM ; 

The herds an - ' hissies were alarm'd ; 

The reverend gray-beards rav'd an' storm'd, 

That beardless laddies, 
Should think they better were informed 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 

Frae words and aiths, to clours an 1 nicks ; 

An' monie a fallow gat his licks 

WV heartie crunt ; 
And some, to learn them, for their tricks 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play d in monie lands, 
An 1 auld-light caddies bure sic hands, 
That f ith the youngsters took the sands, 

Wr* nimble shanks, 
Till Lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

1*2 



172 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe, 

Folk thought them ruin'd stick-an'-stowe? 

Till now amaist on every knowe 

Ye'll find ane plac'd ; 
And some, their new-light fair avow, 

Just quite barefac'd. 

"Nae doubt the auld-light Jloeis are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd and sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' gimin spite, 
To hear the Moon sae sadly lied on 

By word and write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons 

To tak a flight, 
An* stay ae month amang the Moons, 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 

And when the auld Moon's gaun to lea'e them, 

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them* 

Just i* their pouch, 
An* when the new-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a moonshine matter ; 
But though dull prose folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



173 
EPISTLE TO G. R. 

INCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O rough, rude, ready-witted R— - , 
The wale o' cocks for fun an* drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin 

Your dreams * and tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks and cants, 
An* in your wicked, drunken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

And nil them fu> ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! 
Spare' t for their sakes wha aften wear it, 

The lads in black ; 
But your curs'd wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives't aff their back. 

'Jhink, wicked Sinner, wha ye're scaithing, 
It's just the Blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O* Saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate Heathen, 

Like you or I. 

* A certain humourous dream of his was then making 
a noise in thp country side. 

PS 



J 



174. 

I've sent you here some rhymin ware, 
A* that I bargain'd for and mair; 
Sae, when you hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang * : ye'll sen't, wi* cannie care, 

An* no' neglect. 

Tho% faith r sma' heart hae I to sing 1 
My Muse dow scarcely spread he rwing ; 
I've play'd mysel a bonie spring, 

An' danc'd my fill ; 
I'd better gaen and sair't the king, 

At Bwiitr's hilL 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi* the gun, 

An' brought a Paitrlck to the grun% 

A bonie hen, 
An* as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad ken, 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straiket it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ~ r 

But deil-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the Poacher -court 
The hale affair. 

Some auld-used hands had taen a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot, 
I was suspected for the plot, 

I scorn'd to lie, 

* A song he had promised the Author. 



175 - 

So got the whissle o' my groat, 

And paid the fee, 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther, an' my hail, 
An' by the hen, an* by her tail, 

I vow and swear ! 
The Game shall pay, o'er muir an* dale, 

For this neist year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
And the wee pouts begun to cry, 
L — d, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea z- 
T ho* I should herd the buckskin kye 

Fort, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa- three draps about the wame, 

Scarce thro' the feathers, 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their blethers !' 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 

Tint pennyworths again is fair, 

When time's expedient ! 
I Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



' 176 
JOHN BARLEYCORN*. 

A BALLAD. 

There was three kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head ; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring cam kindly on, 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry Suns of Summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi* pointed spears, 

That no one should him wrong. 

The sober Autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale ; 
His bending joints and droopin head, 

Show'd he began to fail. 

* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song 
known by the same name, 



Ill 

His colour sicken'd more and more^ 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began 

To shew their deadly rage. 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp. 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgell'd him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit, 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life appear' d, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 



They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a Miller us'd him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him 'tween twa stones, 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 

And drank it round and round ; 
i And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 



178 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprize, 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise* 






i 



' Twill make a man forget his woe 
'Twill heighten all his joy ; 

'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 
Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may his great postei'ity 

May ne'er fail in old Scotland. 



A FRAGMENT Tune Gittcrankie, 

vV hen Guilford good our pilot stood, 

An' did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man : 
Then, up they gat the maskin-pat, 

An' in the sea did jaw, man : 
An' did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was nae slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's Burn he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man : 
But yet, whatreck, he. at Quebec, 

Montgomery. like did fa', man, 






179 

Wi* sword in hand, before his band, 
Amang his enemies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage within a cage, 

Was kept at Boston-ha', man ; 
Till Willie How took o'er the knowf 

For Philadelphia^ man : 
Wi' sword and gun he thought a sin, 

Quid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
But at Netu-Tork wi* knife and fork, 

Sir Loin he hacked sma', man, 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornnvallis fought as lang's he dought, 

And did the Buckskins claw, man. 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the vva', man. 

Then Montague^ an* Guilford too, 

B^gan to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sachville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German Chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An' lous'd his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Buckingham took up the game, 
Till Death did on him ca% man ; 

When Shelburne meek, held up his cheek, 
Conform to Gospel law, man : 






ISO f 

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise, 
They did his measures thraw, man ; 

For North and Fox united stocks, 
An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then Clubs and Hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa, man ; 
Till the Diamond's Ace, of Indian race, 

Led him a s^vc faux pas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man, 
And Scotland drew her pipe an' blew, 

' Up, Willie , waur them a', man 1' 

Behind the throne then Grenville^s gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas arous'd the class, 

Be-north the Roman wa', man ! 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man ;) 
Wi' kindling eyes, cried, * Willie* rise ! 

t Wad I hae fear'd them a', man 1' 

But, word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co. 

GowfPd Willie like a ba', man ; 
Till Southron raise, and coost their claise, 

Behind him in a raw, man : 
An' Caledon threw by the drone, 

And did her whittle draw, man ; 
An' swoor fu' rude, thro' dirt an' bluid, 

To mak it guid in law, man. 



181 
SONG. 

Tunc, Corn Rigs are bonie. 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie. 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early ; 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me thro' the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly, 
I sat her down wi' right good-will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lo-v'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I Iock'd her in my fond embrace ; 

Her heart was beating rarely ; 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars sae bright, 

That shone that hour sae clearly ! 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear, 
I hae been merry drinking ; 
Q 



182 

I hae been joyfu' gatherin gear - 7 

I hae been happy thinking ; 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubled fairly, 
That happy night was worth them a% 

Amaug the rigs o' barley. 

Chorus. Corn rigs, an* barley rigs, 
An* corn rigs are bonie : 
I'll ne'er forget that happy night. 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



SONG, COMPOSED IN AUGUST, 
Tune, / had a horse I had nae mair. 



H 



JNow westlin winds, and slaughtering guns, 

Bring Autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary Farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, 

To muse upon my Charmer. 

The Partridge loves the Fruitful fells, 

The Plover loves the mountains ; 
The Woodcock haurits the lonely dells ; 

The soaring Hern the fountains ; 
Thro' lofty groves the Cushat roves, 

The path of man to shun it; 



183 

The hazel-bush o'erhangs the Thrush, 
The spreading thorn the Linnet. 

Thus every kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine: 

Some solitary wander : 
A vaunt, away, the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion : 
The Sportsman's joy, the murdering cry* 

The fluttering gory pinion ! 

But Peggy dear, the evening's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming Swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

AH waving green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of Nature; 
The rustling com, the fruited thorn, 

And every happy creature* 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
1*11 grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Nor vernal showers, to budding flowers, 

Not Autumn to the Farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely Charmer ! 

Q2 



184 



SONG. 

Tune, My Nanie, d. 

Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I'll awa to Nanie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud and shill, 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O ; 

But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. 

My Nanie's charming, sweet, an* young, 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O : 

May ill befa' the flatterin tongue, 
That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonie, O ; 

The opening gowan, wat wi* dew, 
Nae purer is than Nanie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O j 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 

An' I maun guide it carmie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O. 



185 

Our auld Guidman delights to view 
His sheep and kye thrive bonie, O ; 

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nanie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I carena by, 

I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O ; 

Jtfae ither care in life hae I, 

But live and love my Nanie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Chorus. Green grow the rashes ', 0, 

Green grow the rashes, ; 
The sweetest hours that e^er I sfisnt* 
Were spent amang the lasses, 0. 

I here's nought but care on every han% 

In every hour that passes, O : 
What signifies the life o' man, 

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O, 
Green grow, &c. 

The warldly race may riches chace, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ! 
^.n' tho* at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Qrten grow, &c. 
Q9 



18G 

Gie me a cannie hour at eVn, 
My arms about my dearie, O, 

An* warldly cares an warldly men, 
May a* gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow, &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O, 

The wisest man the warl e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 

Green grow, &c. 

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears, 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, &c. 



SONG. 

Tune, Johnny's Grey Breeh* 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, 
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 

All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

Atf maun I still on Menie * doat, 

jin y bear the scorn that's in her ee I 
For it's jet, jet black, at? it's Hie a hawk, 

Arf it winna let a body be ! 

-■ Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne. 









187 


In vain 


to me 


the cou 


-slips blaw, 


In vain to 


me the violets spring" ; 


In vain 


to me 


, in glen 


or shaw, 


The 


mavis 


and the 


lintwhite sing. 








5cc. 



The merry Ploughman cheers his team, 
Wi 1 joy the tentie Seedsman stalk?, 

But life to me's a weary-dream, 
A dream of ahe that never wauks. 
An' maun I still, ice. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is blest but I. 

jtn* maun I still, ice. 

The Sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
An' o'er the moorland whistles shill ; 

W'i' wild, unequal, wandering step, 
I meet on him the dewy hill. 

Ant maun I still, &c. 

An' when the lark, 'tween light an' dark,- 
filythe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And. mounts and sings on fluttering wings, 
A woe-worn ^haiot I hameward slide. 
Aii* maun I still, &c. 

Come Winter with thine angry howl, 
And ."aging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gluom will soothe my cBeerless sou!, 
Wl .i Hke me ! 



188 
SONG. 

Tune, Roslin Castle* 

1 he gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul wi' rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The Hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest wi' care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly: 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far, from the bonie banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billows roar, 
* Hs not that fatal, deadly shore ! 
Tho* Death in every shape appear, 
The Wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonie banks of Ayr* 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ! 
The scenes where wretched Fancy roves* 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves I 



189 

Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those-— 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell, the bonie banks of Ayr ! 



SONG. 

Tune, GiUeroy. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go ; 

And from my native shore : 
The cruel Fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last thorb that leaves my heart, 

While Death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



The FAREWELL to the Brethren ot 
St James' Lodge, Tarbolton. 

Tune,— Goodnight and joy Is wi' you #\ 

Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond, adieu ! 
Dear brothers of the mystic tys I 



190 

Yc favour'd, yc enlightened Few, 
Companions of my social joy ! 

Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 
Pursuing Fortune's sliddery ba% 

With melting heart and brimful eye, 
I'll mind you still, tho' far awa. 

Oft have I met your social Band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night, 

Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 

■ Presided o'er the Sons of Light ; 

And by that HierogJi/Juiic bright, 

Which none but Craftsmen ever saw; 

Strong memory on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes, when far awa. 

May Freedom, Harmony, and Love, 

Unite you in the grand Design, 
Beneath the Omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep th unerring lint) 

Still rising by the jilummefs law> 
Till Order bright, completely shine, 

Shall be my prayer, when far awa. 

And Tou, farewell ! whose merits claim 

Justly that highest badge to wear ! 
Heaven bless your honour'd, noble name f 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a% 
One round, I ask it with a tear. 

To him, the Bard tluxfs far awa. 



191 

SONG. Tune, — Prepare, my dear Brethren, tg 
the Tavern Itfs fiy y &c* 

No Churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No Statesman, nor Soldier, to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care. 

The Peer I don't envy, I give him his bow, 
I scorn not the Peasant tho' ever so low ; 
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here, 
And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the Squire on his Brother — the horse; 
There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse; 
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care. 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly : 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter in form* d me that all was to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddi'd up stairs, 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

* Life's cares they are comforts*', — a maxim laid 

down 
By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the 

black gown ; 
And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big belly'd bottle a heaven of care. 
* Young's Night Thoughts. 



192 

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge, 
Then fill up a bumper, and make it overflow, 
And honours masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May every true brother of the Compas3 and Square 
Have a big-belly'd bottle when harasVd with care. 



EPITAPHS. 

On a celebrated Ruling Elder. 

Here Sowter in Death does sleep, 

To h-11 if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll haud it vveel thegither. 



On a Noisy Polemic* 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes, 
O Death, it's my opinion, 

Thou ne'er took sic a bletherin b-t-li 
Into thy dark dominion ! 



On JVee Johnny. 
Hie jacet Wee Johnny. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader know, 
That Death has murder'd Johnny I 

And here his body lies fu' low 

For saul he ne'er had ony. 



193 

For the Authors Father. 

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near with pious reverence, and attend ! 
Here lie the loving Husband's dear remains, 

The tender Father, and the generous Friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human Woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fearM no human pride! 
The friend of man, to Vice alone a foe, 

* For even his failings lean'd to Virtue's side*.* 



For R. A. Esq. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 

Of this much lov'd, much honour'd name ! 

(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cgld. 



For G. H Esq. 

The poor man weeps — here G ■ " ft sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blam'd ; 

But with such as ke 9 where'er he be, 
May I be sav'd or d d f 



A Bard's Epitaph. 

I s there a whim inspired fool, 
Owve fast for thought, owre hot for rule. 
* Goldsmith. 
R 



194 

Ovvre blatc to seek, owre proud to snool ? 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a Bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave, 
Here pause, — and thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know, 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer Jlame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low r , 

And stain'd hi3 name. 
i 

Reader, attend — whether thy Soul 
Soars Fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 
In low pursuit, 
Know,, prudent, cautious, self-controul 

Is Wisdom's root* 



195 



ELEGY ON CAPT. M H- 

A Gentleman who held the patent for his honours 
immediately from Almighty God! 



But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthews course was bright ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless Heavenly Light ! 



O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi* thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us torn, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where Echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 

My wailing numbers, 
R2 



196 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens f 

Ye hazly shaws and briery dens ! 

Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi* toddlin din, 
Or foaming, Strang, wi* ha3ty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Mourn little harebells o^er the lee ; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie,- 

In scented bowers ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flowers- 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 

Droops with a di?mond at his head, 

At even, when beans their fragrance shed, 

P th* rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro* the glade, 

Come join my waih 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o* the wood ; 
Ye grouss that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn ye whirring paitrick brood j 

He's gane for ever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals ; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi* airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels-, 

Rair for his sake* 



197 

Mourn, clamouring craiks at close o* day, 
'Mang fields o* flowering clover gay ; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bower, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tower, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my cantie strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year J 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear : 
Thou Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear, 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi* thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro* the air 

The roaring blast, . 
Wide or the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 
R3 



198 

Mourn him thou Sun, ^reat source of light I 
Mourn, Empress oi the silent ni^ht ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O, H ! the man ! the brother I 

And art thou gone, and gone for ever. ! 
Aiid hast thou cross that unknown river r 

Life's dreary bound i 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 
The world around ! 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great* 
In a' the tinsel trash o* state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll Wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH, 

Stop, passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief. 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man } 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Matthew was a poor man* 



, 



!D9 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man ; 

There moulders here a gallant heart, 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways 
Can throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at Friendship's sacred ca* 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa% 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man $ 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er gude wine did fear, man \ 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire. 
For Matthew was a queer man, 

If ony whiggish whingin sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



1 £00 

Written in Friar sparse Hermitage > on Nil!; 

1 hou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lowr. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly dance^ 
Beneath thy morning-star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd. sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Darigers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While chearful Peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of evening close, 
Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 



201 

And teach the sportive younkers round 
Saws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 
Is not, art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven 
To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise t 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base* 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
i To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn shall never break, 
Till Future Life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of Nith-side. 



} 



LAMENT 

Of Mary Queen of Scots on the approach of Spring* 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 



202 

Now Phcebus chears the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
13 lit nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now laverocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bower, 

Makes woodland echoes ring ; 
The mavis mild wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi* care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

The primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, 

As blythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never ending care. 

But as for thee, thou falae woman, 
My sister and my fae, 



SOS 

Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword 
* That thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor the ba'm that draps on wounds of wee 

Frae soman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine : 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend 

Remember him for rae I 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flowers, that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave. 



To Robert Graham, Esq. of F intra* 

JLate crippled of an arm, and now a leg, 

About to beg a pass for leave to beg ; 

Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected, and deprest, 

(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest ;) 

Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail ? 

(It sooths poor Misery, hearkening to her tale,) 



20* 

And hear him curse the light he first surveyed 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade. 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
O thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground : 
Thou givest the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
The envenomed wasp, victorious, guards his cell, 
Thy minions, kings defend, controu!, devour, 
In all th* omnipotence of rule and power. 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure ; 
The cit and polecat sti.ik, and are secur •. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug. 
Even silly woman has her warlike art>, 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and d.irt3| 

But Qh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 
A th: ;g untenchable in world's skill, 
And half an idiot too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the opening dun ; 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; 
No hotus, but those by luckless Hymen worn, 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 
No nerves olfactory, M tmmon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dulness, comfortable fur. 
In nake^l feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears the unbroken blast from every side : 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics— appallM, I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame % 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 



205 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockhead's daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear: 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro life. 
Till fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd, 
JLow sunk in squalid, unprotected age, "> 

Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page, / 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's I 
rage ! J 

So, by ?ome hedge, the generous steed deceas'd* 
For half*starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies, senseless of each tugging bitch's son* 

O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden cup, 
With s^ ber selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder u some folks" do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the Mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they dark ing grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are fortune's care/' 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-st;uck braid f 
S 



206 

In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell, 
I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear I 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairny the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer ! 

F 9 my other stay, long bless and spare ! 

Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life; and soothe his latest breath 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of death ! 



& 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF 
GLENCAIRN. 

Ike wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely taen. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mouldering down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears j 



207 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro* their caves> 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

" Ye scatter^ birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

u I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain ; 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o* mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun lie before the storm, 

And ithers plant them in my room, 

u I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown j 
I wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent 5 low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a* that would my sorrows sh: u 

** And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !} 
My noble master lies in clay ; 
S 2 



208 
The flower amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stay: 
In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has left my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

u Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence ever mair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That fiiiest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 

u In Poverty's low barren vale, 

Thick mists, obscure, involv'd me round ; 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou foundst me, like the morning sun 

That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
The friendless Bard and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

u O ! why has worth so short a date ? 

While villains ripen gray with time ! 
Must thou, the noble, generous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe I 
O ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 



209 
u The bridegroom may forget the bride, 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me !" 

Lines, sent to Sir John White ford of White* 
ford? Baronet, <with the foregoing Poem. 

Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly 
fear's* ; 

To thee this votive offering I impart, 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The Friend thou valued'st, I, the Patron, lov'd ; 

His worth, his honour, all the world approved. 

We'll mourn, till we too go as he has gone, 

And tread the dreary path to that dark w T orld un- 
known. 



TAM O' SHANTER, a tale. 

Of Brownyis and of Bogles full is this buke. 
Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
An 1 drouthy neebours, neebours me< 
As market-days are wearin late, 
' fouk begin to tak the gat: 



210 

While we sit bousin at the nappy, 
An' getting fou an' unco happy, 
We think nae on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, an' styles, 
That lie between us an' our hame, 
Whar sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gatherin her brows like gatherin storm, 
Nursin her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o 1 Shanter t 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
( 1 uld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, 
For honest men an* bo;iie lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 
As taen thy ain wife Kate^s advice ? 
She tauld thee weel thou whs a skellum, 
A bletherin , blustmn, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market day thou was na sober; 
That ilka meld' r wi* the miller, 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That every naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gnt roarin fou on ; 
That at the L-d's house, even on Sunday, 
Thou drank vvi > Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that late or 5 soon, 
Thou would be found d°ep drownM in Daon i 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Allowa-y^s auld haunted kirk. 

Ah gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lengthen'd sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right > 



211 

Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely $ 
And at his elbow, Suuter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter ; 
.And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The Souter tauld his queerest stones ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy, 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure : 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; 
Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
Or hke the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place j 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm. — 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
Tht>t drear) hour he mounts his. beast in \ 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
A I ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 



212 

The wind blew as 9 twad blav/n its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on hi3 hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o^er some auld Scots sonnet j 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares : 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw .the chapman smoorM; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel.— 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doubling storm roars through the wood9 ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn 1 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 



213 

Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquabae we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right .air astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She venturM forward on the light ; 
And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight. 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 
Put life and mettle in their heels, 
A winnock-bunker in the east, 
There sat auld Nick in shape o' beast ; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge : 
He screw ; d the pipes and gart them skirl, 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses ; 
And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light. 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns ^ 
A thiet, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his tast gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluue red-rusted ; 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
'Whom his ain son o life bereft, 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 



214< 

Wi 1 mair o' horrible and awfu% 
Which even to name wad be unlawfu\ 

As Tammie glowr'd, amazM, and curious, 
The mirth and fan grew fast -and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit, 
And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark ! \ 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had they been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens, 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linnen ! 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That aince were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gien them afF my hurdies, 
For ae blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But wither' d beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowping an' flanging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kend what was what fu* brawlie, 
There was ae winsome wench and wawlie. 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kend on Carrick shore ; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonie boat, 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear f 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty sark, o* Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn. 
In longitude though sorely scanty, 
It was her best and she was vauntie.— 



215 
Ah ! little kend thy reverend grar, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi* twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her riches, ) 
Wad ever grae'd a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun com: ; 
Sic flights are far beyond her power ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and ftang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang,) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitched, 
And thought his very een enriched ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu ? fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main ! 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark !** 
And in an instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke, 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, pop 1 she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When «« Catch the thief!" resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vam thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
I And win the key-stane * of the brig ; 

* It is a well known fact that witches, or any evil 
rits, have no power to follow a poor -wight any farther 



216 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tale she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle. 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tarn o' Shanter's mare. 



On seeing a wounded Hare limp, ly me 9 which a 
fellow had just shot at. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart 1 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakesand verdantplains 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

than the middle of the next running stream. — It may be 
proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that 
when he falls in with bogles > whatever danger may be in hi$ 
going forward} there is much more hazard in turning back. 



217 

oeck, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
No more of rest but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hap- 
less fate. 






ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S 

Peregrinations thro* Scotland, collecting the antiqui- 
ties of that kingdom. 

Hear, Land o* Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats ; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent it : 
A chield's amang you, taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, 
iV stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel— 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel. 



i By some auld, hnulet-haunted biggin *, 
! Or kirk deserted by its riggin, 
It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
* Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. 
T 

I 



218 

Wi* deils, they say, L — d safe's ! colieaguin 
At some black art. — 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chamer, 

Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamor, 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlock's and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b — ■ — s. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's quat the sputfle-blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And taen the-— — Antiquarian trade 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets *, 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tackets, 

A towmont gude ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backets, 

Before the Flood, 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld Tubalcain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass, 

Forbye, he'll shape you afF fu' gleg 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 

* Vide his Treatise »n ancient armour aed weaDon*. 



219 

The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully, 

It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gullie.— • 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For rneikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi* him ; 
And port , jiort ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye' 11 see him ! 

Now, by the Powers o 5 Verse and Prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chield, O Grose ! — 
Whae'er o* thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa* thee. 



TO MISS C r-, A VERY YOUNG LADY. 

-Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely Flower, 
Chilly shrink in sleety shower ! 
Never Boreas' hoary path, 
Never Eurus' poisonous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights ! 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew ? 
T2 



220 
' Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem,i 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some evening, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm* 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And every bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound, 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to Parent Earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF 

BRUAR WATER*, 
To the noble Duke of Aihole* 

JYIy Lord, I know, your noble ear 

Woe ne : er assails in vain ; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumping glowrin trouts, 

That thro' my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray ; 

* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque 
and beautiful ; but their effect is much impaired by the 
want of trees aed shrubs* 



, 221 

If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 
I'm scorching up so shallow, 

They're left the whitening stanes amang, 
In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi 1 spite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by, 
That, to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Even as I was he shored me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the skelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As Nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel, 
Vorth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees,, 

And bonie spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock, warbling wild, 
Shall to the skies aspire ; 
TS 



222 

The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir : 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 

This, too, a covert shall insure, 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flowers ; 
Or find a sheltering, safe retreat, 

From prone-descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds, with all their wealth, 

As empty idle care : 
The flowers shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heaven to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Miid-chequering thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 



Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' watery bed : 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drcst 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embowering thorn. 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope* 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honoured native land ! 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken* 

To social-flowing glasses, 
The grase be — " Athole s honest mepj 

« And Athole's bonie lasses 1" 



Written with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of Fj/'ers 9 
near JLochness. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods, 
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
'Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where thro' a shapeless breach his stream resounds. 
As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 
As deep recoiling surges foam below, 
Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
And viewless echo's ear astonish'd rends. 
Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless 

showers, 
The hoary cavern*, wide surrounding, lowers. 
Still thro* the gap, the struggling river toils, 
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils—* 



224? 

Written with a Pencil, over the Chimney -piece of the 
Inn at Kenmore, Tay mouth. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
'Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides ; 
Th* outstretching lake, embosom 'd'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay, meandering sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village glittering in the noontide beam — 

****** 
Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 
Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell : 
The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 
Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 

****** 
Here poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, 
And look through nature with creative fire ; 
Here, to the wrongs of fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wander wild ; 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling wounds 
Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward stretch 

her scan, 
And injur d Worth forget and pardon man, 

****** 



225 
THE WHISTLE : 

A BALLAD. 

As the authentic /imr history of the Whistle is curious, 
I shall here give it. — In the train of Anne of Denmark, 
when she came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there 
came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and 
great prowess and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He 
had a little ebony Whistle, which at the commencement 
(if the orgies he lt\d on *:he table \ and whoever was last 
able to blow it, every body else being disabled b> the po- 
tency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a tro- 
phy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his 
victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copen- 
hagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the 
petty courts in Germany ; and challenged the Scots Bac- 
chanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or 
else of acknowledging their inferiority. After many o- 
verthrows on the part of the Scots, the. Dane was en- 
countered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor 
to the present worthy baronet of that name ; who, after 
three days and three nights* hard contest, left the Scan- 
dinavian under the table;, 

And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, after- 
wards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, 
who had married a sister of Sir Walter's. — On Friday, the 
16th of October 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whistle was 
once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by the 
present Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Rid- 
del, Esq. of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representa- 
tive of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose 
family it had continued ; and Alexander Ferguson, F.>q. 
of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Ro- 
bert ; which last gentleman carried dJf the hard-won ho- 
nours of the field. 



226 

I sing of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Wasbrought to the court of our good Scotish king, 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda *, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— 
" This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get 

o'er, 
" And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me 

more !" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatched at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor godship as deep as,the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy, has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. »j 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of 

flaw ; 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skilPd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. 
* See Ossiaiv*s Caric-thura. 



227 

Craigdarroch began > with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a priz"e, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More * 
Andbumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

! Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe—or his friend, 
j Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
1 And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 
So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 
1 But for wine and for welcome not more known to 

fame, 
Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely 

dame. 

A Bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the fates of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 
! And every new cork is a new spring of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were 
wet. 

* See Johnson's tour to the Hebridrs 



228 

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow ? d that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a piece had well wore out \he night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage ; 
A high ruling elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end, 

But who can with Fate and Quart Bumpers con- 
tend ? 

Tho' Fate said — a hero should perish in light ; 

So up rose bright Phoebus—- and down fell the 
knight. 

Next up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall 

sink ! 
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more— and have at the sublime ! 

Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with 

Bruce 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of 



GLOSSARY 



The ch and gk have always the guttural sound. The 
sound of the English diphthong eo , is commonly spelled 
Mr. The French u, a sound which often occurs in the 
Scotch language, is marked oo, or ui. The a in genuine 
Scotch words, except when forming a diphthong, or 
followed by an e mute after a single consonant, sounds 
generally like the broad English a in wall. The 
Scotch diphthongs, ae aiways, and ae very often, sound 
like the French e masculine. The Scotch diphthong 
ey, sounds like the Latin el. 



A\ all 

Aback, away, aloof 
i Aboon, above, up 

Abeigh, at a shy distance 

Abreed, in breadth 
I Ae, one 

Aften, often 

Air, off; ujf-loof, unpreme- 
ditated 

Afore, before 
' Aiblins, perhaps 
I Aits, oats 

Aim, iron 

Aith, oath 

Ain, own 

Aiver, an old horse 
lAizIe, a hot cinder 

Alake, alas 

Alane, alone 
|Amang, among 
l-Amaist, almost 
(An', and, if 

Ane, one, an 



Ance, once 

Artfu', artful 

Ase, ashes 

Asteer, abroad, stirring 

Auld, old 

Auld-farran, or auld-far- 

rant, cunning, prudent 
Aught, eight, possession ; as 

in a my aught, in all my 

possession 
Ava, at all 
Awa, away 

Awn, the beard of grain 
Awnie, bearded 
Awfu' awful 
Awkwart, awkward 
Ayont, beyond 

B 

Ba', ball 

Baws'nt, having a white 

stripe down the face 
Barkit, barked 
Barkin, barking 



GLOSSARY. 



Baith, both 

Bane, bone 

Banie, having large bones, 
stout 

Bardie, diminutive of bard 

Bauld, bold ; bauldly, boldly 

Barefit, bare-fcoted 

Batch, a crew, a gang 

Batts, botts 

Bang, an effort, a stroke 

Bairn, a child 

Bairntime, a family of chil- 
dren, a brood 

Baudrons, a cat 

Bauk, a cross beam ; bauk- 
en\ the end of a beam 

Bad, did bid 

BasruV, bashful 

Backlings comin, returning 

Be, to let be, to give over, 

Beuk, a book 

Behint, or behin', behind 

Be't, be it 

Ben, the sfience or parlour 

Belyve, by and by 

Beet, to add fuel to fire 

Beastie, dimin. of beast 

Benlomond, a mountain 

Belly-fu\ bellyful 

Bethankit, the grace after 
meat 

Befa', to befal 

Billie, a brother, a fellow 

Big, to build ; biggit ,builded 

Biggin, building, a house 

Bicker, a kind of wooden 
dish, a short race 

Birkie, a clever fellow 

Bing, a heap of grain, &c f 

Bill, a bull 



Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 

Birring, the noise of par- 
tridges, &c. 

Bit, crisis, nick of time 

Bien, wealthy, plentiful 

Biel, or bield, shelter 

Blastit, blasted 

Blastie, a shrivell'd dwarf, 
a term of contempt 

Blink, a little while, a smi- 
ling look 

Blinker, a term of con- 
tempt 

Elinking, smirking 

Bluid, blood ; bluidy, bloody 

Blather, the bladder 

Blaw, to blow, to boast 

Blether, to talk idly ; non- 
sense 

Bleth'rin, talking idljr 

Blaud, a flat piece of any 
thing ; to slap 

Blate, bashful, sheepish 

Bleerin, blazing 

Blype, a shred, a large 
* piece 

Blue-gown, one of those 
beggars, who get, an- 
nually, a blue cloak with 
a badge 

Bonie, or bonny, hand- 
some, beautiful 

Bannock, a kind of thick 
cake of bread 

Bother, to pother 

Bodle, a small old coin 

Boortrie, the shrub elder 

Boord, a board 

Botch, an angry tumour 

Boost, behoved, must nee^s 



GLOSSARY. 



Bow-kail, cabbage 

Bovv't, bended, crooked 

Bock, to vomit, to gush in- 
termittently 

Bocked, gush'd, vomited 

Braw, fine, handsome 

Brawly, or brawlie, very 

well, finely, heartily 
Breakin, breaking 

Brawnie, stout, brawny 

Brie, juice, liquid 

Brash, a sudden illness 

Brunstane, brimstone 

Breeks, breeches 

Brugh, a burgh 

Brust, to burst 

Brither, a brother 

Braid, broad 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags 

Breathin, breathing 

Branks, a kind of wooden 
curb for horses 

Brig, a bridge 

Broo, broth, liquid, water 

Brewin, brewing 

Brogue, a hum, a trick 

Brak, broke, made insol- 
vent 

Breef, an invulnerable or ir- 
resistible spell 

Brunt, did burn 

Brae, a declivity, a preci- 
pice, the slope of a hill 

Brachens, fern 

Broose, a race at country 
weddings who shall first 
reach the bridegroom's 
house on returning from 
church 

Brattle, short race, hurry 
R 



Braindge, to run rashly for- 
ward 
Braindg't, reeled forward 
Brisket, the breast 
Breastit, did spring up or 

forward 
Breastie, dimin. of breast 
Braik, a kind of harrow 
Braxie, a morkin sheep, &c. 
Bruilzie, a broil 
Buirdly, stout-made 
Bum-clock, a humming 

Deetle that flies in the 

summer evenings 
Bummin, humming as tees 
Burn, water, a rivulet 
Burnie, dimin. of burn 
Burnewin, i. e. burn the 

ivind, a blacksmith 
Busle, a bustle, to bustle 
But an* ben, the country 

kitchen and parlour 
Buskit, dressed 
Bummle, to blunder 
Bummler, a blunderer 
Buckskin, an inhabitant of 

Virginia 
But, without 
Bure, did bear 
Byre, a cow-stable 
By himself, lunatic, mad 



Ca*, to call, to name, to 

drive 
Ca't, or ca'd, called, driven, 

calved 
Caressin, caressing 
Cauld, cold 
Cantie, or canty, cheerful 



GLOSSARY. 



Caup, a wooden drinking 
vessel 

Carlin, a stout old woman 

Cannie, gentle, mild 

Cannilie, dexterously 

Cadie, or caddie, a pers"on, 
a young fellow 

Caller, fresh, sound 

Cam, did come 

Canna, cannot 

Carryin, carrying 

Calf-ward, a small inclo- 
sure for calves 

Cairn, a loose heap of 
stones 

Cauldron, a caldron 

Cantraip, a charm, a spell 

Cape-stane, key-stone 

Caird, a tinker 

Caff, chaff 

Careerin, cheerfully 

Cartes, cards 

Cadger, a carrier 

Callan, a boy 

Chap, a fellow, a blow 

Chiel, a young fellow 

Chow, to chew ; cheek for 
c/iozv, side by side 

Chuffie, fat-faced 

Chantin, chanting 

Chanter, part of a bagpipe 

Cheep, a chirp ; to chirp 

Chokin, choking 

ChearfV, chearful 

Chimla, or chimlie, a fire- 
grate 

Chimla lug, the fire-side 

Cheekit, cheeked 

Chittering, shivering 



Clash, an idle tale 
Claw, to scratch 
Claise or claes, clothes 
Claith, cloth ; claithing, 

clothing 
Clinkin, jerking, clinking 
Clinkumbell, who rings the 

church -bell 
Clachan, a small village a- 

bout a church, a hamlet 
Clishmaclaver, idle talk 
Cloot, hoof of a cow, &c. 
Clootie, an old name for the 

devil 
Clips, sheers 
Claut, to clean, to scrape 
Clauted, scraped 
Clarkit, wrote 
Clap, clapper of a mill 
Cleed, to clothe 
Clatter, to tell little idle 

stories ; an idle story 
Clour, a bump or swelling 

after a blow 
Clock, to hatch ; a beetle 
Clockin, hatching 
Collie, a general name for 

country curs 
Comin, coming 
Countra, country 
Cotter, the inhabitant of a 

cot-house, or cottage 
Cood, the cud 
Cog, a wooden dish 
Coggie, dimin. of cog 
Cowie, to terrify, to keep 
, under, to lop; a fright, 

a branch of broom, &c. 
Commaun, command 



GLOSSARY. 



Cozie, snug ; coxiely^ snugly 
Cowp, to barter, to tumble 

over ; a fall, a gang 
Cowpit, tumbled 
Cove, a cavern 
Cootie, wooden kitchen 
dioh ; also those fowls, 
ivhose legs are clad ivith 
, feathers, are said to be 
cootie 
Coost, did cast 
Cowte, a colt 
Coof, a blockhead, a ninny- 
Core, corps, party, clan 
Coothie, kind, loving 
Cookit, appeared and disap- 
peared by fits 
Coble, a fishing-boat 
Corn't, fed with oats 
Cowrin, cowering 
Coaxin, wheedling 
Coila, from Kyle, a district 

of Ayrshire 
Crack, conversation 
Crack in, conversing 
Crabbit, crabbed, fretful 
Crouse, cheerful, coura- 
geous 
Crously, cheerfully, cou- 
rageously 
Crank, the noise of an un- 

greased wheel 
Crankous, fretful, captious 
Crushin, crushing, crusht, 

crushed 
Crap, a crop, the top 
Cronie, crony 

Crowdi e time, breakfast 
time 



Crump, hard and brittle, 
spoken of bread 

Croon, a hollow continued 
moan ; to hum a tune 

Crooning, humming 

Creeshie, greasy 

Craft, or croft, a field near 
a house, in old husbandry 

Creel, a basket ; to have 
one's ivits in a creel, to be 
crazed, to be fascinated 

Craw, a crow of a cotk, a 
rook 

Crouchie, crook-backed 

Cranreuch, the hoar frost 

Crambo-clink, or crambo- 
jingle, rhyme, doggerel 
verses 

Crowling, crawling 

Creepin, creeping 

Crood, or croud, to coo 

Crunt, a blow on the head 

Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 

Curchie, a curtsey 

Curmurring, murmuring 

Curie, a game on ice 

Curler, a player at ice 

Curpin, the crupper 

Cummock, a short staff 
with a crooked head 

Curling, curled, whose hair 
falls naturally in ring- 
lets 

Cushat, the dove or wood 
pigeon 



Daft, merry, giddy, foolish 
Damn, merriment 



R3 



GLOSSARY. 



Darg or daurk, a day's la- 
bour 

Dawd, a large piece 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse 

Dawtit or dautet, fondled, 
caressed 

Dainty, pleasant, good-hu- 
moured, agreeable 

Dancin, dancing 

Darklins, darkling 

Daur, to dare ; daurt, dared 

Dappl't, dappled 

Daimen, rare, now and 
then ; daimen-hker, an ear 
of corn, now and then 

Daddie, a father 

Dearies, dimin. of dears 

Dearthfu', dear 

Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! 

Deave, to deafen 

Devel, a stunning blow 

Deleerit, delirious 

Deservin, deserving 

Delvin, delving 

Descrive, to describe 

Disrespecket, disrespected 

Dizzen or diz'n, a dozen 

Dirl, a slight tremulous 
stroke or pain 

Ding, to worst, to push 

Dinna, do not 

Dight, to wipe, to clean 
corn from chafF 

Dimpl't, dimpled' 

Dizzie, dizzy, giddy 

Doitet, stupified 

Doylt, stupified, crazed 

Douce, or douse, sober, 
wise, prudent 

Doucely, soberly, prudently 



Dorty, saucy, nice 

Dow, am or are not able, 
cannot 

Doight, was or were able 

Dolefu', doleful 

Doure, stout, durable, stub- 
born, sullen 

Dowie, worn with grief, 
fatigue, &c. 

Donsie, unlucky 

Dowff, pithless 

Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool, 
to lament, to mourn 

Drap, a drop ; to drop 

Drumlie, muddy 

Druken, drunken i 

Drouth, thirst, drought 

Dryin, drying 

Dreep, to ooze, to drop 

Dreeping, oozing 

Drift, a drove 

Drunt, pet, sour humour 

Dreadfu\ dreadful 

Droop-rumpl't, that droops 
at the crupper 

Dribble, drizzling, slaver 

Drummock, meal and water 
mixed raw 

Droddum, the breech 

Dub, a small pond 

Duds, rags, clothes 

Duddie, ragged 

Dung, worsted, piished 

Dush, to push as a ram, &c. 

Dusht, pusht by a ram, &c. 



Ee, the eye ; een, the eyes 
Eerie, frighted 
E'enin, evening 



GLOSSARY. 



Eild, old age 
Elbuck, the elbow 
Eldritch, ghastly 
En', an end 
Enbrugh, Edinburgh 
Eneugh, enough 
Eydent, diligent 



Fa\ fall, lot ; to fall 

Fae, a foe 

Fash, trouble, care 

Fasht, troubled 

Fawsont, decent, seemly 

Faem, foam 

Farl, a cake of bread 

Fairn, a fairing, a present 

Fallow, fellow 

Faut, fault 

Faddom't, fathomed 

Fac't, faced 

Fatterels, ribbon ends, &c. 

Fasten-een, fast ens-even 

Fand, did find 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold 

Faulding, folding 

Ferlie, or ferly, to wonder 
| Fecht, to fight ; fechthi, 
fighting 

Fend, to live comfortably 

Feide, feud, enmity 

Feat, neat, spruce 
! Fear't. frighted 

Fearfu', frightful 

Fetch, to pull by fits 

Fyg, a fig 

Feckfu', large, brawny 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly 

Fell, keen, biting ; a field 
pretty level on a hill 



Fient, fiend, a petty oath 

Fizz, to make a hissing 

Fit, a foot 

Fittie-lan', the near horse 
of the hindmost pair in 
the plough 

Fier, sound, healthy ; a 
brother, a friend 

Fidge, to fidget 

Fidgin, fidgetting 

Fissle, to make a rustling" 
noise, to fidget ; a bustle 

Flatterin, flattering 

Fleg, a kick, a random blow 

Flunkie, a servant in livery 

Fley, to scare, to frighten 

Fley'd, frighted 

Flyin, flying 

Fleesli, a fleece 

Flingin-tree, a piece of tim- 
ber hung by way of par- 
tition, between two hor- 
ses in a stable, a flail 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke 

Flisket, fretted f 

Fiichter, to flutter 

Flichterin, fluttering 

Flinders, shreds, broken 
pieces 

Fleech, to supplicate in a 
flattering manner 

Fleechin, supplicating 

Flainen, flannel 

Flether, to decoy 

Fletherin, flattering 

Flitter, to vibrate like the 
wings of small birds 

Flittering, fluttering 

Forgather, to meet, to en- 
counter with 



8 



GLOSSARY. 



Fou, full, drunk 

Foughten, troubled, harass- 
ed 

Formin, forming 

Forbye, besides 

Forfairn, distressed, jaded 

Foord., a ford 

Forbears, forefathers 

Fow, a bushel, &c. 

Forgie, to forgive 

Forjesket, jaded with fa- 
tigue 

Frae, from 

Freath, froth 

Frien, friend 

Fu', full 

Fur, a furrow 

Furm, a form, a bench, 

Fud, the scut of a hare, 
coney, &c. 

Fuff, to blow intermittently 

FufFt, did blow 

Fuilnie, full of merriment 

Fyle, to soil, to dirty 

FyPt, soiled, dirty « 

Fyke, trifling cares 



Gab, the mouth ; to speak 

boldly or pertly 
Gang, to go, to walk 
Gash, wise, sagacious, talk- 
ative ; to converse 
9 Gashin, conversin 
Gaucy 4 jolly, large 
Gae, to g&> gaedyWent, gaen, 
or gam, gone, gaun, going 
Gaet or gate, way, road 
Gatherin, gathering 
Gar, to make, to force to 



Gart, forced to 

Garten, a garter 

Geordie, a guinea 

Gear, riches or goods of any 

kind 
Gentles, great folks 
Get, a child, a young one 
Geek, to toss the head in 

wantonness or scorn 
Ged, a pike 
Gie, tc give ; gied, gave ; 

gien, given 
Gimmer, a ewe from one to 

two years 
Gin, if, against 
Gizz, a periwig 
Girn to grin 
Girnin, grinning 
Giliie, dimvu of gill 
Ghaist, a ghost 
Gloamin the twilight 
Glunch, a frown 
Glib-gabbet, speaks readily 
Glinted, to peep 
Glowr, to stare 
Glowrin, stared 
Glaikit, inattentive 
Gleg sharp, ready 
Glaizie, glittering 
Gley, a squint 
Gowan, the flower of the 

daisy 
Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of 

contempt 
Gowf to howl 
Gowd, gold 
Gowff. the name of gold ; 

to strike, as the bat <hcs the 

hall at golf 
GowJTd, struck 



GLOSSARY. 



Grane, or grain, a groan 

Grainin groaning 

Grushie thick, of thriving 
growth 

Grievin, grieving 

Graith, accoutrements 

Gruntle, the phiz, a grunt- 
ing noise 

Greet, to shed tears, to 
weep 

Gree't, agreed 

Graunie, a grandmother 

Gracefu', graceful 

Grape to grop 

Grippit catched, seized 

Graip, a pronged instru- 
ment for cleaning stables 

Grumphie, a sow 

Grumph, a grunt ; to grunt 

Grousome, lothsomely 

Grunstane, a grindstone 

Grozet a gooseberry 

Grissle, gristle 

Gratefu', grateful 

Gree, to agree ; to bear the 
grec, to be victor 

Grun', ground 

Groat, to get the ivhistle of 
cue's grot it, to play a lo- 
sing game 

Gude, the Supreme Bting ! 

j Gusty, tasteful 
Gully, or gullie, a large 

knife 
Guid, good^; guid-mornin, 

good-morrow ; guid-een, 

good evening 
Guidman and guidnvift, the 

master and mistress of the 



house ; Toting Guidman , a 
man newly married 

Guidfather, Guidmither, fa- 
ther-in-law and mother- 
in-law 

Gumlie, muddy 

H 

Ha', hall 

Hae, to have 

Haen, had, the participle 

Hame. home ; hameivarJ, 

homeward 
Hamely homely, affable 
Han' or haun\ hand 
Haith. a petty oath 
YLzet.Jienti haet a prtty oath 
Haughs, low-lying rich 
* lands valleys 
Hash, a sot 
Haud, to hold 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Hap-step-an'-lowp, hop 

skip, and leap 
Hap, an outer garment, to 

cover, to hop 
Happing, hopping 
Hafflins nearly half, partly 
Hain. to spare, to save ; 

haind spared 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one 

iviih a 'white fane 
IlaPorhauldanabidingplace 
Havins, good manners 
Harkit, hearkened 
Happer, a hopper 
Hag. a scar or gulf in mosses 

and moors 
Haverel a half-witted per- 
son, half-witted 



io 



GLOSSARY. 



Hairst, harvest 
Haurl to drag, to peel 
Haurlin, peeling 
Hastit, hastened 
Hallan, a particular parti- 
tion-wall in a cottage 
Ha' bible, the great bible 

that lies in the hall 
Haifet, the temple, the side 

of the head 
Haggis, a kind of pudding 
boiled in the stomach of 
a cow or sheep 
Hech ! oh ! strange 
Hearse, hoarse 
Het. hot 
Herrin, herring 
Herry, to plunder, mat pro- 
perly to plunder birdnests 
Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit 
Heeze to elevate, to raise 
Heather heath 
Hecht, to foretell some- 
thing that is to be got or 
given ; foretold ; the thing 
foretold 
Heapit. heaped 
Herd, to tend flocks ; one 

who tends flocks 
Healsome healthful 
Hear't hear it 
Hellim, the rudder or helm 
Himsel himself 
Hizzie, hussy, a young girl 
Hirple, to walk crazily, to 

creep ; kirplin, creeping 
Hing, to hang 
Hitch, a loop, a knot 
Hilch, to hobble, to halt 
Hilchin, halting 



Histie, dry, chapt, barren 
Hissel so many cattle as one 

person can attend 
Howk to dig 
How die, a midwife 
Hornie, the devil 
Houghmagandie, fornica- 
tion 
Howe, hollow ; a dell 
Howe-backit, sunk in the 
back, spoken of a horse, &c. 
Hove, to heave, to swell 
Hov'd, heaved, swelled 
Hoyse, a pull upwards 
Hoord, a hoard to hoard 
Hoordet, hoarded 
Hoolie> slowly, leisurely ; 
hoolie I take leisure ! 
stop ! 
Host or hoast, to cough ; 

hostin, coughing 
Hog-score a kind of dis- 
tance line in curling, 
drawn across the rink 
Hoy, to urge : hoyt. urged 
Hool outer skin or case 
Hoyte to amble crazily 
Housi tdimin. of house 
Horn, a spoon made of horn 
Hog-shouther, a kind of 
horse play, by justling 
with the shoulder -; to 
justle 
Hurdies,the loihs 
Hughoc, dirnin. of Hugh 



iMn 

ler-oe, a great-granchild 

Icker, an ear of corn 



GLOSSARY. 



12 



Ilk or ilka, each, every 
lil-willie, ill-natured, mali- 
cious, niggardly- 
Ingle, fire, fire-place 
l'se, I shall or will 
Jther, other, one another 



Jad, jade ; a familiar term 
for a giddy girl 

Jaup, a jerk of water 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle 

Jaukin, trifling, dallying 

Jaw, coarse raillery ; to 
pour out, to spurt 

Jink, to dodge to turn a 
corner 

Jinkin dodging 

Jinker that runs quickly, 
a gay sprightly girl a wag 

Jimp, to jump ; slender in 
the waist handsome 

Jillet,a jilt, a giddy girl 

Jirt, a jerk 

Jinglin, jingling 

Jow, toja-ty a verb which 
includes both the swing- 
ing motion, and pealing 
sound of a large bell 

Jouk, to stoop 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife 

Jokin, joking 
| J oyfu*, joyful 
! Jundie, to justle 

Jump it, did jump 

Jumpin, jumping 



I Kae, a daw 



Kain, fowls, &c. paid as 
rent by a farmer 

Kail, coleworts ; broth 

Kail-runt, the stem of the 
colewort 

Kebbuck, a cheese 

Ken. to know ; kend or kent y 
knew 

Kennin, a matter 

Keep, a peep ; to peep 

Keepit kept 

Kelpies a sort of mischie- 
vous spirits said to haunt 
fords and ferries at night, 
especially in storms 

Ket, a matted hairy fleece 
of wool 

Kin' kind 

Kilt to truss up the clothes 

Kirn, the harvest-supper, a 
churn ; to churn 

Kitchen, any thing that eats 
with bread, to serve for 
soups gravy, &c. 

Kittle, to tickle 

Kittlin, a young cat 

King's-hood, a certain part 
of the entrails of an ox, 
&c. 

Kin kindred 

Kiuttle, to cuddle 

Kiutlin cuddling 

Kiaugh carking anxiety 

Kirsen to christen 

Kimmer, a young girl 

Kist, chest, a shop-counter 

Knappin-hammer a ham- 
mer for breaking stones 

Knowe, a small hillock 

Kye cows 



GLOSSARY. 



Kythe, to discover 
Kyte. the belly 

L 

Lan\ land, estate 

Lang, long ; to think lang, to 

long to weary 
Lap, did leap 

Lampit, a kind of shell-fish 
Laverock the lark 
Lambie, dimin. of lamb 
Laigh low 
Xjane lone , my lane, thy lane* 

myself alone, &c. 
Lanely, lonely 
Lallan. Lowland ; lallans, 

Scotch dialect 
Laggen, the angle between 

the side and bottom of a 

wooden dish 
Lave, the rest 
Laith, loath 

Laithfu', bashful, sheepish 
Lairin, wading and sinking 

in snow, mud, &c. 
l,addie> dim in. of lad 
Lee-lang, live-long 
Leuk, a look, to look 
Leeze me, a phrase of con- 
gratulatory endearment 
Lear, pronounce lare learning 
Lea'e, to leave 
Leister, a three-pronged 

dart for striking fish 
Leugh, did laugh 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful 
Lightly sneeringly 
Limmer a kept mistress 
Livin, living 
Link, to trip along 



Linking, tripping 
Limpit limped, hobbled 
Linn, a waterfall 
Lint flax ; lint in the bell, 

flax in flower 
Lift, the sky 
Lilt a ballad, a tune 
Lintwhite ; a linnet 
Loan, the place of milking 
Loof the palm of the hand 
Looves , plural of loof 
Lowe, a flame ; to flame 
Lowin, flaming 
Lowse, to loose 
Loot, did let 
Loun, a fellow, or woman 

of easy virtue 
Lowrie, Lawrence 
Lug the ear. a handle 
Lugget, having a handle 
Luggie, a small wooden 

dish with a handle 
Lunt, a column of smoke ; 

to smoke 
Luntin, smoking 
Lunch, a large piece of 

cheese, flesh &c. 
Lum, the chimney 
Lyart, of a mixed colour, 

grey 



Mae, more 
Maist, most, almost 
Maun ; must 
Mae, more 
Mair, more 

Mak, to make ; ma kin. ma- 
king 
Mashluta, meslin,' mixt corn < 



GLOSSARY. 



13 



Manteele, a mantle 

Maw, to mow 

Maukin, a hare 

Mallie, Molly 

Mar's year, the rebellion 
A, D. 1715. 

Mask, to mash malt, Sec. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot 

'Mang, among 

Mavis, the thrush 

Mell, to meddle 

Men', to mend 

Messin, a small dog 

Melvie, to soil with meal . 

Mense, good manners 

Menseless, ill-bred, rude 

Melancholious, mournful 

Meere, mare 

Mither, mother 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly 
mixed 

Mim, prim 

Mindfu*, mindful 

Mislear'd, mischievous 

Misca', to abuse 

Misca'd, abused 

Min', mind, remembrance 

Mind't, mind it, resolved 

Midden, a dunghill, 

Midden-hole, a gutter at 
the bottom of the dung- 
hill 
! Minnie, mother, dam 
I Misteuk, mistook 
i Morn, to-morrow 

Moudiewort, a mole 
j Mony, or monie, many 
,' Moistify, to moisten 

Mournfu', mournful 

Moop, to nibble as a sheep 



Mottie, full of motes 

Mou, the mouth 

Mousie, dimin, of mouse 

Muckle, or meikle, great, 
big, much 

Mutchkin, an English pint 

Muslin-kail, broth compo- 
sed simply of water, shell- 
ed barley, and greens 

Musie, dimin. of muse 

Mysel, myself 



Na, no, not, nor 

Nae, no, not, any 

Nane, none 

Naething, nothing 

Naig, a horse 

Neebor, a neighbour 

Needfu', needful 

Neglectit, neglected 

Neuk, nook 

Niest, next 

Nieve, fist 

Nieyefu, handful 

Niger, a negro 

Niifer, an exchange 

Nit, a nut 

Nowte, black cattle 

Nor Ian, of or belonging to 

the North 
Notic't, noticed 
Nor-west, north-west 
Noteless, unknown 

O 

O', of 

Observing observing 

Ony, or onie, any 

Or,;V often used for «re, before 






14 



GLOSSARY. 



O't, of it 

Ourie, shivering, drooping 

Oursel, or oursels, ourselves 

Outler, not housed 

Owre, over, too 

Owre-hip, a way of fetch- 
ing a blow with a ham- 
mer over the arm 



Pack, intimate, familiar ; 
twelve stones of wool 

Painch, paunch 

Parritch, oatmeal pudding 

Pang, to cram 

Paukie, cunning, sly 

Paughty, proud, haughty 

Paitrick, a partridge 

Pat, did put ; a pot 

Pay't, paid, beat 

Pattle or pettle, a plough 
staff, to cherish 

Pech, to fetch the breath 
short, as In an asthma 

Pechan, the crop, the sto- 
mach 

Pet, a domesticated sheep 

Peelin, peeling 

Phraise, fair speeches 

Phraisin, flattery 

Pit, to put 

Pine, pain, uneasiness 

Pickle, a small quantity 

Platie, dimln. of plate 

Plack, an old Scotch coin 

Plackless, pennyless 

Pliskie, a trick 

Plew or pleugh, a plough 

Plumpit, did plump 



Poortith, poverty 
Powther, powder 
Pouthery, like powder 
Pouk, to pluck 
Pou, to pull 
Poussie, a hare or cat 
Powfriie, a little horse 
Pow, the head, the skull 
* Pout, a poult, a chicken 
Pridefu*, proud, saucy 
Provesses, provosts 
Prig, to cheapen 
Priggin, cheapening 
Pryin, prying 
Prief, proof 
Prent, print 
Propone, to propose 
Primsie, demure, precise 
Prie, to taste 
Prie'd, tasted 
Prin, a pin 
Pund, pound, pounds 
Puddin, pudding 
Pyle, a pijle <? caff, a single 
grain of chaff 

Q 

Quat, to quit 
Quak, to quake 
Quakin, quaking 
Quey, a cow from one year 
to two years old 

R 

Ram-feezled, fatigued 
Rantin, ranting 
Rattlin, rattling 
Raucle, ra9h, stout 
Raw, a row 



GLOSSARY. 



15 



Raible, to rattle nonsense 

Rair, to roar ; rairt, roared ; 
rairin t roaring 

Rax, to stretch 

Rash, rush 

Ram-stam, thoughtless, for- 
ward 

Rarely, excellent, very well 

Ragweed, the plant ragwort 

Ratton, a rat 

Raught, reached 

Raize, to madden 

Ree, half drunk, fuddled 

Ream, cream 

Reek, smoke ; to smoke 

Red-wud, stark-mad 

Remead, remedy 

Reest, to stand restive 

Restit, stood restive, stunt- 
ed, withered 

Reave, to rob 

Requit, requittal 

Reft, torn, ragged 

Restricked, restricted 

Reck, to heed 

Rede, counsel ; to counsel 

Rin, to run, melt 

Ridin, riding 

Rip, a handful of unthresh- 
ed corn, &c, 

Rink, the course of the 
Stones, a term in curling 

Riskit, made a noise like 
the tearing of roots 

Rig, a ridge 

Rowte, to low, to bellow 

Rowtin, lowing 

Rowth, plenty 

Roupet, hoars^ as with a 
cold 

S : 



Rowe, to roll, to wrap 
Roun*, round, in the circle 

of neighbourhood 
Roose, to praise, to com- 

mend 
Roset, rosin 

Roon, a shred, a remnant 
Rung, a cudgel 
Runkl'd, wrinkled 
Runt, the stem of cabbage 



'S,is 

Sae, so 

Sair, to serve ; sore 

Sairly or sairlie, sorely 

Sair't served 

Saul, soul 

Saunt, a saint 

Sark, a shirt 

Sarkit provided in shirts 

Saft, soft 

Saw, to sow 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six 

Saut salt 

Saumont, salmon 

Saugh. the willow 

Scone a kind of bread 

Scrieve, to glide swiftly 

Scrievin, swiftly, gleesome- 

ly 

Screed, to tear ; a rent 
Scaur, to scare 
Scauld, to sc©ld 
Scawi, a scold 
Scaud, to scald 
Scaur, apt to be scared 
Scrimp, to scant ; set 
did scant, scanty 



16 



GLOSSARY. 



Scunner, a loathing 

Scraich, to scream as a hen, 
fiurt ridge, &c. 

Scraichin, screaming 

Sel, self ; a lady's sel, one's 
self alone 

Sets, sets off, goes away 

Seed, did see 

Settlin, settling ; to get a set- 
tling to be frighted into 
quietness 

Sfcll't, did sell 

Seizin, seizing 

Sen*, to send ; sent-, sent it 

Shaw, to show ; a small 
wood in a hollow place 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench 

Shoon, shoes 

Sheep-shank; to think one's 
self nae sheep-shank, to 

, be conceited 

Shore, to offer, to threaten 

Shor'd, offered 

Shangan, a stick cleft at one 
end for putting the tail of 
a dog, &c. into, by way 
of mischief, or to frighten 
him away 

Shaver, a humorous wag, a 
barber 

Shog, a shock 

Sheen, bright shining 

Sherra-moor, Sheriff-moor 

Shool, a shovel 

Shaird, a shred, a shard 

Sic, such 

Simmer, summer 

Siller, silver, money 

Sittin, sitting 

Sin', since 



Sin, a son 

Sicker, sure, steady 

Sinfu', sinful 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting 

Sinkin, sinking 

Skriegh, a scream 

Skaith, to damage 

Sklent, slant ; to run a* 
sklent, to deviate from 
truth 

Sklentin, slanting 

Skelpie-limmer, a technical 
term in female scolding 

Skiegh, proud, nice, high- 
mettled 

Skirl, to shriek 

Skirl't, shrieked 

Skirlin, shrieking, crying 

Skelp, to strike, to slap ; to 
walk with a smart trip- 
ping step ; a smart stroke 

Slae, sloe 

Slaw, slow 

Slap, a gate, a breach in a 
fence 

Slade, did slide 

Slee, sly ; sleest y sliest 

Slype, to fall over as a ivet 
fur r oiv from the plough 

Slypet, fell 

Sleekit, sleek 

Sma*, small 

Smiddy, smithy 

Smytrie, a numerous collec~ 
tion of small individuals 

Smoor, to smother ; smoord^ 
smothered 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene 

Smeddurm dust powder ; 
mettle^ sense 



GLOSSARY. 



17 



Snaw, snow ; to snow 
Snaw-brow, melted snow 
Snash, abuse, Billingsgate 
Sneeshin. snuff; sneeskin-mill t 

snuff-box 
Snowk, to scent or snuff as 

a dog, horse, &c. 
Snowkit, scented, snuffed 
Snick-drawing, trick-con- 
triving 
Snick, the latchet of a door 
Snoove, to go smoothly and 

constantly, to sneak 
Snoov't, went smoothly 
iSnell, bitter, biting 
Sii'-d, to lop, to cut off 
Snool, one whose spirit is 
broken with oppressive 
slavery ; to submit tame- 
ly, to sneak 
Sonsie. having sweet enga- 
ging looks; lucky jolly 
Sowther, solder ; to solder, 

to cement 
Souple, flexible, swift 
Soom : to swim 
Sowp. a spoonful 
Sootie, sooty 
Sobbin, sobbing 
Sowth, to try over a tune 

with a low whistle 
Sooth, true, a petty oath 
Souter, a shoemaker 
Spaul, a limb 
Spier, to ask, to inquire 
Spunk, fire, mettle, wit 
Spunkie, mettlesome, fiery ; 
will-o'-wisp, or ignis fa- 
tuus 



Spak, did speak 
Speel, to climb 
Spleuchan, a tobacco-pouch 
Speat, a sweeping torrent 

after rain or thaw 
Spairge, to dash, to soil as 

ivitk mire 
Spence, the country par- 
lour 
Spae, to prophesy 
Sprit> a tough-rooted plant 

something like rushes 
Sprittie, full of sprits 
Sprattle to scramble 
Spavit, ha*ving the spavin 
Spreckl'd spotted, speckled 
Splore, a frolic, a riot 
Splatter, a splutter 
Spring, a quick air in music, 

a Scotch reel 
Squad, a crew, a party 
Squeel. a scream, a screech, 

to scream 
Splutter, to flutter in water 

as a wild duck, &c. 
Squattle, to sprawl 
Stan', to stand 
Stane, a stone 
Stroan, to spout, to piss 
Stroan't. spouted, pissed 
Stents, dues cf any kind 
Steele, to shut ; a stitch 
Stech to cram the belly 
Startle, to run as cattle 

stung-by the gad-fly 
Steer, to molest, to stir 
Sturt, trouble ; to molest 
Sturtin, frighted 
Studdie, an anvil 



S3 



18 



GLOSSARY. 



Stell, a still 

Stoup, a kind of jug or dish 
with a handle 

Straik, to stroke 

Stacher, to stagger 

Stap, to step 

Strae, straw ; to die a fair 
strae death, to die in bed 

Strack, did strike 

Stack, a rick of corn, &c. 

Streek, stretched 

Staumrel, half-witted 

Stoure, dust, more particu- 
larly dust in motion 

Stirk, a cow or bullock, a 
year old 

Stot, an ox 

Stoor, sounding hollow, 
strong and hoarse 

Straught, straight 

Stock a plant of colewort, 
cabbage, &c. 

Staw. did steal; to surfeit 

Stown, stolen 

Stowlins, by stealth 

Stibble, stubble ; stibble- 
rig, the reaper, in har- 
vest, who takes the lead 

Strunt, spiritous liquor 

Staggie, dimin. of stag 

Steeve, firm, compacted 

Stank, a pool of standing 
water 

Stark, stout 

S ley, step ; steyest, steepest 

St en, to rear as a horse 

Sten't, reared 

fetimpart, the eighth part of 
a Winchester bushel 

S'trappan, tall and handsome 



Stilt, a crutch ; to halt, to 
limp 

Stumpie, dimin, of stump 

Mriddle, to straddle 

Stick, an' stowe, totally, al- 
together 

Sucker sugar 

Sugh, the continued rush- 
ing noise of wind or wa- 
ter 

Suthron, southern 

Sud, should 

Swap, an exchange 

Swirl, a curve, an eddying 
blast or pool, a knot in 
wood 

Swirlie, knaggy, full of 
knots 

Swither, to hesitate 

Swank, stately, jolly 

Swankie, or Swanker, a 
tight strapping young fel- 
low or girl 

Swatch, a sample 

Swith ! get away ! 

Swinge, to beat, to whip 

Swaird, sward 

Swat, did sweat 

Swoor, swore, did swear 

Swall'd, swelled 

Sweer, lazy, averse ; dead- 
swear, extremely averse 

Syne, since, ago, then 



Tae, a toe ; three-tae'd, ha- 
ving three prongs 

Tauted or tautie, matted 
together, spoken of hair 
or wool 



GLOSSARY. 



19 



Tak,to take ; takin, taking 

Tangle, a sea-weed 

Tauld or tald, told 

Tarrow, to murmur at 
one's allowance 

Tarrow't, murmured 

Talkin, talking 

Tap, the top 

Taupie, a foolish thought- 
less young person 

Tapetless, heedless, foolish 

Tapsalteerie, topsy-turvy 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor 

Tent, a field pulpit ; heed, 
caution ; to take heed 

Tentie, heedful, cautious 

Tentless, heedless 

Teugh, tough ; teughly, 
toughly 

Teat, a small quantity 

Tearfu*, tearful 

Ten-hour's bite, a slight 
feed to the horses while 
in the yoke in the fore- 
noon 

Thack, thatch; thack an* 
rape, clothing, necessa- 
ries 

Thrang, throng, a crowd 

Thegither, together 

Thick, intimate, familiar 

Thole, to suffer, to endure 

Thae, these 

Thrissle, thistle 

Throuther, pell mell, con- 
fusedly 

Thumpit, thumped 

Thieveless, cold, dry 

Thowe, a thaw, to thaw 

Thankit, thanked 



Through, to go on with, to 
make, out 

Threshin, threshing 

Thairms, small guts, fiddle- 
strings 

Thysel, thyself 

Thud, to make a loud in- 
termittent noise 

Thraw, to sprain, to twist, 
to contradict 

Thrawn, sprained, twisted, 
contradicted 

Thrawin, twisting, &c. 

Threteen, thirteen 

Thirl to thrill 

Thirl'd, thrilled, vibrated 

Thowless, slack, lazy 

Threap, to maintain by dint 
of assertion 

Thir, these 

Tither, the other 

Timmer, timber ; timmer 
prop't, proped with tim- 
ber 

Till't, to it 

Tine, to lose ; tint, lost 

Tittle, to whisper 

Tittlin, whispering 

Tirl, to make a slight noise, 
to uncover 

Tirlin, uncovering 

Tip, a ram 

Towzie, rough, shaggy 

Toom, empty 

Tout, the blast of a horn 

Tow, a rope 

Toddle, to totter like the 
walk of a child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Tod; a fox 



20 



GLOSSARY. 



Toop, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm- 
house 

Tocher, marriage, portion 

Toyte, to totter like old age 

Towmond, a twelvemonth 

Toy, a very old fashion of 
female head-dress 

Trashtrie trash 

Trowth, truth, a petty path 

Trow, to believe 

Transmugrify'd, transmi- 
grated, metamorphosed 

Trig, spruce neat 

Trimly, excellently 

Tulzie, a quarrel j to quar- 
rel, to fight 

Twa, two 

Twa- three, a few 

Twin, to part 

'Twad, it would 

Tyke, a dog 

U 

Uncos, news 

Unco, strange, uncouth, 
very, very great, prodi- 
gious 

Ilndoin undoing 

Unskaith'd, undamaged, un* 
hurt 

Uncaring, disregarding 

Unken'd, unknown 

Upo\ upon 



Vap*rin, vapouring 
Vera, very 

Virl, a ring round a co- 
lumn, &c% 



W 

Wa\ wall ; wa's, walls 

Wae woe, sorrowful 

Wad would ; to bett ; a 
bet, a pledge 

Wadna, would not 

Wastrie, prodigality 

Warl or war Id, world 

Warly, worldly, eager on 
amassing wealth 

Wark, work 

Wark-lume a tool to work 
with 

Warst, worst 

Wale choice ; to choose 

Wal'd, choose, chosen 

Wame, the belly ; wame- 
fqu\ a beljyful 

Warran\ a warrant ; to 
warrant 

Wabster, a weaver 

Wauken, to awake 

Waesucks! or waes me ! 
alas ! O the pity ! 

Waur, worse ; to worst 

Waur't, worsted 

Warlock, a wizzard 

Warstl'd, or warsl'd, wrest- 
led 

WanrestrV, restless 

Wat, wet ; I wat, I wot, I 
know 

Wanchancie, unlucky 

Water-brose, brose made 
of meal and water sim- 
ply, without the addition 
of milk, butter, &c. 

Waukit, thickened, as ful- 
lers do cloth 

Wauble, to swing, to reel 



GLOSSARY. 



Wettle, a twig, a wand 

Wair, to lay out, to expend 

Walie, ample, large, jolly ; 
also an interjection of dis- 
tress 

Waft, the woof 

Wailfu\ wailing 

Wee, little ; wee-things, 
little ones ; a wee bit, 
small matter 

Wtel, well ; weelfare, wel- 
fare 

Wean or weanie. a child 

Weason, weesand 

Wee'se, we shall 

Wearie or weary ; monie a 
weary body, many a dif- 
ferent person 

Weet, rain, wetness 

Wha, who 

Whase, whose 

Whare, where ; where'er, 
wherever 

Whyles, whiles, sometimes 

Whissle, a whistle ; to whis- 
tle 

Whang, a leather string, a 
piece of cheese, bread, 
&c. to give the strappado 

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to 
jerk ; penny whip, small 
beer 

Whun-stane, a whin-stone 

Whirly-gigums, useless or- 
naments, trifling appen- 
dages 

Whigmeleeries, whims, fan- 
cies, crotchets 

Whisht ! silence ! to hold 
one's whisht, to be silent 



Whaizle, to wheeze 

Whisk, to sweep, or lash 

Whiskit, lashed 

Whid, the motion of a hare 
running, but not fright- 
ened ; a lie 

Whiddin, running as a hare, 
or coney 

Whitter, a hearty draught 
of liquor 

Whatreck, nevertheless 

Whalpit, whelped 

Wi\ with 

Win', wind ; win's, winds 

Wimple, to meander 

Wimpl't, meander'd 

Wimplin, w t a ving, meander- 
ing 

Winna, will not 

Winnock, a window 

Winkin, winking 

Wick, to strike a stone in 
an oblique direction, a 
term in curling 

Withoutten, without 

Win, to wind, to winnow 

Win't, winded, as a bottom 
of yarn 

Wintle, a staggering mo- 
tion j to stagger, to reel 

Winze, an oath ' 

Wiel, a small whirlpool 

Wifie, a diminutive or en- 
dearing term for wife 

Wizen'd, dried, shrunk, 
hide-bound 

Wiss, to wish 

Winsome, gay, heart y t 
vaunted 

Waefu', woful 



22 



GLOSSARY. 



Wpnner, a wonder, a con- 
temptuous appellation 

Wonderfu', wonderful, won- 
derfully % 

Woo', wool 

Wooer-bab, the garter 
knotted below the knee 
with a couple of loups 

Worset, worsted 

Wordy, worthy 

Wrack, to teaze, to vex 

Wrang, wrong, to wrong 

Wreath, a drifted heap of 
snow 

Wraith, a spirit, a ghost ; 
an apparition exactly like 
a living person, whose 
appearance is said to for- 
bode the person's ap- 
proaching death 

Wud mad distracted 

Wumble, a wimble 

Wyte, blame, did blame 



Wyliecoat, a flannel vest 



Year, is used for both sir 
and plur. years 

Yell, barren, that gives 
milk 

Yerk, to lash, to jerk 

Yerkit, jerked, lashed 

Yestreen, yesternight 

Yealings, born in the sam 
year, coevals 

Ye, this pronoun is fre- 
quently used for thou 

Yill, ale 

Yird, earth 

Yoursel, yourself 

Yont, beyond 

Youthfu*, youthfu 

Yokin, yoking a boat 

Yowe, a ewe 

Yowie, dim in. of yowe 

Yule, Christina* 



FINIS. 



740 








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